Dark Phoenix
by SofiaDragon
Summary: Harry needs to take control of his life. Some very old magic is at work, and our hero finds hidden strength within himself. Snape becomes a major player. Better summary inside. Multiple pairings.
1. The Escape

**Harry Potter and the Dark Phoenix**

(Year 6)

Category: Action/Adventure; Angst  
Rating: R  
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OoTP  
Summary: Harry Potter ran away one day, tired of watching others suffer for his ignorance. He couldn't sit on the sidelines and wait for someone else to tell him what to do any more. Luck, as always, is on his side as he works to make a place for himself, not only in the war, but in life. Some very old magic is at work, allowing him to do far more then he thought he could. Tangled events drive Harry to realise that the world outside of Hogwarts and Privet Drive is bigger and more wonderful then he could have imagined. (**Rated R for adult themes, mild language, homosexuality**.)  
Author Notes: My Yahoo!Group is where to find me, look in my profile. I dedicate this story to anyone who has felt the need to find themselves. **This will be a slash piece, but that is not the main focus**. This means that Harry James Potter is homosexual and so are a few others in this story, but every cannon male does not suddenly come out of the closet to snuggle our hero. This is not going to be a superpower Harry story. The things that happen to Harry in the beginning have excellent explanations, which were alluded to by a certain Headmaster we all know, but no one has a clear idea about. Harry discovers them but not for a great while, and not without a lot of hard work. Picks up at the end of the 5th book and follows cannon fairly well. This story is being adjusted slightly to fit into Half Blood Prince cannon, but is AU as of the sixth book.  
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I am aware of a legend about a dark phoenix in Celtic lore, but I know no more than one exists. I took the idea and ran with it in my own direction and I wouldn't be surprised if I've made tons of 'errors' in my references to these mythical creatures.

1: The Escape

Harry James Potter was an extraordinary young man. This has been a well established point for the past five years, but bears repeating every now and again. He lived in Number four, Privet Drive with his Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Cousin Dudley Dursley. The unfortunate part of this arrangement is that the Dursleys and their home were all painfully ordinary in every way, and Harry was more a prisoner than a welcome member of the family.

He was not permitted to leave the house between six in the afternoon and eleven in the morning. He was to make as little noise as physically possible. He was to help prepare and eat three meals a day with his family at eight in the morning, noon, and seven at night. He was to write one letter about his physical and mental health every three days without fail. He was going to go insane.

Harry Potter was well acquainted with being caged in. He'd spent the majority of his childhood locked in a cupboard under the stairs after all, but that didn't mean he liked it. He wasn't claustrophobic per say, but after a week in the cupboard he would often start rocking side to side, singing nonsensical gibberish about a storm coming. He seemed to remember hearing the song whenever he was left alone in the dark for long periods, but could never place it.

Somehow, knowing that his every waking moment was being observed, reported, and controlled was much worse than being locked in the dark cupboard. He could feel eyes on him at the most inopportune times, like while he was busy in the loo or trying to sleep. Harry often felt as if he couldn't get enough air and it had only been a few days.

When things were at their worst, he thought of the tiny glass souvenir from the department of mysteries. It had gotten caught in his robes while he battled in the time room, and might yet be a way out. It had a tiny dial on the side, numbering the days it would take a person back from one to seven. It had been six days, and he had paid very close attention to his surroundings.

Different guards had different styles, and sounded slightly different when they apparated. He knew that Hestia Jones watched him on the first day from eleven at night until four in the morning, with Sturgis Podmore after her until noon. Professor Snape had only appeared once late at night. Harry had spotted him steaming in agitation behind a tree in the light from the streetlamp. He must have been stepping in for Mad-Eye, who usually had that time slot.

The only weak link he saw was on the second in the two day cycle. Mundungus Fletcher, who left around 1:54 PM, and Fred (or George) Weasley, who always arrived at 2:01 PM. Five minutes average, but it was the only opening. It was also more than enough time to use a time turner. They weren't very attentive watchers either. Fred (or was it George?) always had an accountant's book with him, and Mundungus was nearly asleep. The biggest sticking point was that he would have to leave the protective wards in order to use it, or they would treat the other him as a threat. He wasn't entirely sure what sort of things the wards were set to do to an intruder, but he wasn't keen on finding out the hard way.

Harry had another thing going for him, though: he was fast. A broomstick's performance was tied to the rider's physical abilities, and Harry hadn't been the youngest seeker in a century for nothing. He could outrun any of his classmates, most with little difficulty. Perhaps more important than the ability to do something was his determination. If he had the grapes to go against the blackest dark wizard in centuries, he could get away from his guards. A window of opportunity, time turner, speed, and grapes accounted for; he was ready to break out of his invisible cage.

After breakfast Harry stuffed his wizard money, a few apples, change of clothing, his lock picking kit, a list of his homework assignments, a quill, and £50 into an old shirt he tied off to make a sack. He slipped his wand into the pocket of his best jeans, which were still five sizes too big, and waited in the living room. At exactly 1:52 he heard the telltale sound of a car backfiring, and knew luck was on his side yet again. He grabbed his sack of necessities and ran for it.

Harry had long ago taken the distances to the alley he had first seen Sirius and the other alley he'd seen the Dementors and calculated the size of the wards. The park he visited last year should be sufficiently far. He started laughing as he reached the corner of Magnolia Crescent. At this rate Fred wouldn't arrive until well after Harry reached June 29th.

A smooth pop was suddenly heard behind him, and Harry's stomach turned to ice. That sound could only have been professor Snape. No other person had a quiet, nearly musical apparation pop. _Well, I'll be testing my land speed won't I? _Harry looked over his shoulder in time to see the shocked professor finish processing the scene before him, and start chasing after him. _Ten Galleons says he thinks I'm possessed by the Dark Lord._

Harry broke into a sprint, easily outpacing the older man. He was free; Snape couldn't possibly catch him now. _I'm going to make it. _He darted down an alley and felt like he was walking on air. Dark music blew on the wind, and power sparked in the air. _Must be one of the wards going off; I've never felt anything like this._

Harry felt the heat of the sun on his skin as he made a hard left around a dumpster and out of the alley. It wasn't far to the park now. He still heard footsteps behind him, echoing off the alley walls. _Snape doesn't know about that hairpin left turn, he'll either slow down or smack into the wall. _A satisfying smack echoed out, and Harry smiled. Every second Snape took to get up off the ground took Harry another half dozen meters closer to the park.

As Harry hurtled the park fence, he spared a glance behind himself. There was Snape, just leaving the alley with a red scrape on his right hand and cheek. Harry hit the ground at a run, no longer going full speed now that Snape was a good distance behind him. There was roughly an acre of overgrown forest in the center of the park, sectioned off as a habitat for wild birds and other things. When he reached the fence he threw himself at the ground, tucking his small frame into a ball. He rolled under the fence and down a short hill in a move that the roughly two meter tall professor could never dream of.

_I'm free. I can do anything I want. They can't catch me. I'm lighter than air . . . Where is that music coming from? _Harry opened his eyes and panicked. He was sixty meters off the ground and gaining, but could still see everything on the ground with perfect clarity. There was Professor Snape, trying to jump the tall habitat fence. Harry found he could steer when he tried, and managed to land on a nearby building. Harry looked back just as Snape made it to the top, with the aid of his wand and a levitation spell. Harry gave the man credit, the vertical slats of the fence were hard to scale. They were raised off the ground enough for small animals to get by easily enough, but anyone the professor's size who tried to get under them would get stuck halfway. _I guess he won't risk getting stuck, though he is probably thin enough to . . . Ouch! That's got to sting._

A very creative string of curses was currently coming from a crumpled heap of black robes. When Snape went to jump down from the top of the high fence he landed with one foot in a hole made by some animal, twisting his left ankle at a severely unnatural angle. Harry watched in amusement and pity as Snape extracted a small vole from it's now destroyed home and began dissecting it. Tiny organs were sorted into vials, bones carefully laid out on a piece of scrap parchment.

_Well, he seems occupied. It would be a shame to interrupt him during his . . . vengeance. _Harry turned around, aware that his body wasn't moving normally. _I need a mirror, but how do I walk when I have . . .claws? _Where Dudley's rotten old trainers should have been, Harry saw two black claws. Three toes pointed forward and one back, with sharp little talons on the end. _I didn't . . . I did! I'm an Animagi! I'm a bird! Wait . . . can I get back? _Almost before he finished the thought, Harry was back to having opposable thumbs. He nearly fell off, but managed to climb over to the other side of the pointed roof.

_Alright, I want to be a bird again. _Nothing happened. _Maybe I have to feel like a bird . . . Fresh air whipping past my face, freedom to go and do anything, I'm floating above it all. _When Harry opened his eyes again he was perched on the rainspout, wings spread for flight. _This is so cool! I can just fly around doing bird things and eating bird food all summer. This is so much better than going back in time and running off. No one knows I can do this, so I'm completely safe._

He took off, aiming for the clouds. For hours he spun and danced in the air, quickly mastering the subtle movements required for flight. He found updrafts, cross winds, and convection currents. The wind tossed him, but he remained in control, using the twisting wind rather than fighting it.

_I'm hungry; I wonder what kind of food I like. _Harry thought back to the dissected vole. _Not meat, that's for sure. Is it grain then? Bread would be nice, but not exactly what I want. _He glanced down and saw a large house on a hill, sprawling gardens filled the huge back yard, but Harry was fairly certain that the property extended well past the old cast iron fence. _Must be some rich family. Perhaps they have a bird feeder or . . .Jackpot! _In one of the patios in the large garden a tea set was displayed, ready for the owners to come and eat. The thing that caught Harry's eye was the small jar of strawberry jam. Berries were definitely on the menu. There were two place settings, but three chairs. Harry settled on the seat on the third chair to gauge his height. _Still short, I shouldn't be surprised. Then again, I can see over the tabletop. Perhaps I'm not so small for a bird. Wow, what a wingspan! I can hug half this little table. What would that be, a meter or a little more? I've got quite a bit of black, but lots of brilliant green underneath. I can turn my head about ninety degrees to each side, and see things for miles. I still don't have the faintest idea what I am, though._

"Draco, I don't think you understand. Your father was caught red handed this time." Harry froze, he couldn't possibly have heard right.

"Mother, I thought Father had all sorts of contacts high up in the ministry. Surely he can get let off." He'd know that drawling voice anywhere. Harry was at Malfoy's house, sitting in Lucius' chair, thinking about eating their strawberry jam. Well, it did look like good jam. The Malfoys wouldn't have anything but the best, would they?

"They are pushing for full trials for all the accused. He can't bribe a vial of veritaserum, and we can't argue away a 'fair and speedy trial.' That werewolf is telling anyone who will stand still long enough about how innocent people can be convicted if things aren't handled properly." _Good for Remus, he's hurting as much as I am. _Harry pecked at the jam jar's lid.

"Then we get on his bandwagon. Father is innocent, and . . ."

"Draco, he isn't. He's as guilty as the Dark Lord himself." _Can I get that in writing? _Harry continued pecking at the slowly warping lid.

"Yes, well **we** know that, it doesn't mean they have to."

"They will know; they won't stop until they have an iron clad approach that will give the truth. Legilimency, veritaserum . . ." _In other words, your dad is toast. Hey, is there some toast in one of these covered dishes?_

"You can guard yourself from legilimency, and veritaserum only works for direct questions. If you don't know what questions to ask, it doesn't do you any good."

"Draco, they know all the questions they need. We can't argue with Lupin because he isn't saying guilty people will go free, he's saying innocent people will be locked up. He brings in much more support that way and I think he knows it. The day your father has a trial is the day we renounce him. We deny ever knowing and keep to ourselves. That includes leaving the Potter boy alone." The two blonds were getting close, but the twists in the garden path would keep them from seeing Harry for a few more moments.

"But Mother!" Draco whined. "Potter's the Gryffindor Seeker! I have to insult him, for the team. He's horrible, and only cares about himself. He's an insult to everything purebloods stand for. His very existence repulses me." Harry punched right through the jam lid when he heard that, splattering strawberries onto the glass tabletop. _Good thing it's clean . . . Mmmmm, these taste good!_

"Then get used to it. Lucius may have encouraged your rivalry, but it isn't politically safe. In fact I doubt it's good for your physical health, I heard some nasty things about what that boy and his friends managed to do. Don't forget that **he** taught those other kids to fight. I daresay he is much more dangerous now then he was before Umbrage was put in there. That plan was a total failure. Your father kept you in the dark much too often for my tastes. Did I tell you what one of his intercepted letters said?"

"You intercepted one of Potter's letters?"

"No, one of the Dark Lord's people did and sent a copy here for me to take to Lucius. I don't know why they need help deciphering it; I understood exactly what it meant." Narcissa Malfoy rounded the last corner into the patio, but turned around to look her son in the eye as she spoke. "He said that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. He now has a solid personal reason to go after the Death Eaters, since it appears he was much closer to his godfather than any of us knew. He is going to push himself to be the best he can. No more slacking off, no more putting quidditch before class, no more listening to your petty insults. He doesn't care about it anymore. If I know anything, Draco, it is that the Potter family has strength of will. He could and did defeat the Dark Lord when he was eleven years old, purely out of blind determination. He didn't even understand what he was doing, just that it had to be done and he was the only one available. That isn't luck, it happens much too often for it to be luck." Harry gobbled jam, knowing that any second Mrs. Malfoy would finish yelling at Draco and turn around.

_I love jam, strawberry jam, lots of jam in a little jam jar. _Apparently whatever type of bird he was happened to be prone to singing when happy. He couldn't remember ever making up songs about food in his head before. _I have a jar, a jar of jam, strawberry jam in a little jam jar._ Alright, he wasn't a great composer, but he didn't much care.

"Mother, look at the table!" Draco squawked.

"Quiet, Draco, don't you know what that is?"

"It's a bird eating our afternoon tea." Narcissa smacked the back of Draco's head.

"I wonder how you can be my son sometimes. You don't care about magical creatures at all. This is a Storm Phoenix." Harry choked when he heard that. "See the long green tail feathers with silver tips? No regular hawk has that. The long tail and huge wings give it stability even in the worst weather, and its small body cuts down on weight. It is brilliant green and silver underneath the black wings. Notice how little silver is on the tail. The more silver, the older the bird, so this must be a very young one." Harry wanted the description to continue, so he spread his wings and flapped a little. It felt so good to stretch, that he shivered as if tossing off water. "Amazing, they are usually shy and quick to attack."

"What do you mean, attack?"

"Storm Phoenixes can command lightning, though this one might be too young to do much. There isn't any silver at all on his breast, so he can't be very old at all."

"How can a phoenix be old, they live forever don't they?"

"Of course they don't. No animal is immortal, but they do live a very long time. For example: light phoenixes, the kind with red and gold feathers, live for around five hundred years. Not enough is known about their dark cousins to guess their life span, but it is longer than our own. They can bond with witches and wizards, and those that do sometimes follow their bonded into death. Those who do not just fly away and even the most dedicated avian enthusiast can't track them for long. They enjoy flying in the biggest storms and even dive into tornadoes and waterspouts for fun, so no broom could ever keep up."

"So we are going to let a baby bird eat our afternoon tea? Why can't we just shoo it away?" Harry ruffled his feathers a little at that, but started turning over the dish covers looking for toast or crumpets.

"They are very dangerous birds! Look at what he did to the lid of that jam jar, and not even a scratch on his beak. They can command thunder and wind, even call forth a storm when the fancy hits them. The more noble or elegant they appear the more powerful the magical creature tends to be. You should know that already from that incident with the hippogriff." _So that's where the pastries were hiding. These ought to be more substantial than the jam, though I'm not sure I need it._

"Mother, it's ruining our tea."

"Hush, and be glad you have the opportunity to see one." Mrs. Malfoy ushered her son to a bench by the hedges and sat down.

Harry pecked the sticky pastry he had selected one more time. _Alright, this isn't going down very well. Plain toast would be good, but this is too greasy. I don't want to make myself sick. _He looked over at the awed woman and disgruntled son. _She doesn't seem half bad, and she let me eat my fill. I also trashed her tea, but if she likes magical creatures so much I should be able to make it up to her._ Harry stood on the back of the heavy cast iron chair and spread out his wings so the older woman could get a nice, long look. Then he flapped over to land on her knee, shocking her silent.

"Is it attacking?" Draco was white and cringing, pressed back as far into the of the bench as he could go. Harry crooned a little, his voice coming out as a cross between a flute and a harp. He fidgeted a little, looking for a comfy perch on the bony woman's lap.

"No. He is . . . that is I think he wants . . . he might be staying." Harry shook his head without thinking, and Draco gasped. "Alright, you understand us and you aren't going to stay. Why are you on my lap then?" Harry crooned again, flapped a little more, and was completely stumped. He didn't have the faintest idea how to communicate that she was allowed to examine him to her hearts content, so longs as things didn't get too invasive.

"I don't think it's going to answer you, mother." Harry turned sharply and glared a bit.

"I think you ought to watch yourself, Draco. This bird is a 'he' not an 'it.' He is a lovely Storm Phoenix." She very carefully raised her hand. "One of his kind saved Salazar Slytherin's life during a hailstorm. She perched on Salazar's head and spread her wings, protecting him as he flew to Hogsmeade the night before they started constructing Hogwarts." The aristocratic woman carefully pet Harry's back, as if he would take off a finger or two if she did anything amiss. "They are dark creatures, often called 'gale-birds' rather than their proper name. They have the same healing abilities of their cousins, light phoenixes. However, their song energizes rather than calms those who hear it. They also use their song to call storms, so the power behind the music is a real and dangerous thing." Harry nodded, hoping to encourage her to explain further. "This one seems intent on educating you."

"I'd rather have my afternoon tea."

"You could eat and listen, if that is alright with our guest." Harry flew back to Lucius' chair. A few minutes later Draco and Narcissa Malfoy had settled into their chairs and called a house elf to replace what had been pecked at. A half-hour later Harry realized that Mrs. Malfoy didn't have any other useful information. She knew about different wizards and witches who befriended the dangerous birds, when they lived and died, what the birds did for them, and what happened to the birds at the end of their owner's lives. She wasn't even sure if they had a burning day or were reborn only when injured. Harry thought about staying for a few days, but Draco's voice seemed to be permanently set to whiny brat mode. _Not sure I could take that for days on end._

Harry took off, aiming north to Hogwarts. He hoped Hagrid wasn't off on a mission for the Order, since the lovable half-giant was sure to appreciate the appearance of a rare, dangerous magical creature. Though he wasn't all that dangerous, at least he didn't think so. He hadn't the faintest clue how to call forth a storm or flash lightning, but supposed it wouldn't matter to Hagrid. He might even use the time turner to stay on a week and be shown as a specimen for the class if all went well. _Wouldn't it be wild to write an essay on myself? I'd definitely get full marks for it. It is supposed to be impossible to become a magical creature through any sort of self-transfiguration though. I guess I'll have to look it all up again and figure how I managed it._


	2. Snape Events

2: **Snape Events**

After a few hours, Harry had the distinct impression that he was not going the right way. Some homing instinct or magical awareness instructed him that he was a few degrees off and would miss Hogwarts by several miles if he didn't turn slightly to the left. Rationally, he hadn't the faintest idea where he was and would be lucky to find Hogwarts before the start of term feast. This odd feeling of wrongness didn't go away, so he turned until it felt right.

The sun was getting low in the sky when Harry saw the outline of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade in the distance. The castle had always felt like home, and even seeing it from so far away was a comfort. He let out a chirp of victory, and was surprised to see a puff of cloud form just in front of him. _Perhaps I can affect the weather. I'll have to keep my beak buttoned or I'll flood Hagrid's hut!_

As Harry swooped down to the castle grounds, a lone figure caught his eye. Severus Snape was limping his way to the main doors, still muttering about his twisted ankle. Harry was still too far away, even with his enhanced hearing, to make out very much. Harry gathered that the professor had tried using the Floo to get back to Headquarters after finishing with the vole and made his ankle worse when he landed. That also explained why the injured man hadn't flooed directly into his own office. Harry perched on a gargoyle near the main doors, wondering if he should do something. It was his fault the professor got hurt, and he hadn't meant for it to happen. Not that he liked the man, but Harry realized that he was a valuable member of the Order. Voldemort might get angry at the grease ball if he showed up late to some meeting, and that sort of thing was dangerous for a spy. While Harry was lost in thought, the potions master reached the castle steps.

"Great Merlin himself, I take it all back. This is the best day of my life." Snape was staring at Harry, juggling the vials of vole parts while rummaging in his pockets for something. "Best bloody day of my life. Don't fly away now. Where did I put that vial?" A small bag of blueberries fell out of Snape's pocket and scattered on the stone stairs. "Would the nice gale bird like some yummy vole for dinner? I have some liver, no that's the spleen. I know I have the meaty bits here somewhere . . . What is monkshood doing in . . .? Never mind, you don't want iguana spit either." Harry started to laugh, his bird voice coming out as a series of toots and squeaks.

_This is the single most amusing thing I have ever seen. Professor Severus Snape, falling all over himself to feed Harry Potter a snack. I am hungry again, all this flying around burns some serious calories, but if he thinks I'm eating that vole he is nuttier than the Headmaster! _Harry hopped down to the blueberries and started pecking at them. _I'll just clean these up._

"Oh, you are a vegetarian. Who would have guessed? Just stay still for the desperate, greasy potions master. What a lovely bird, I can make some wonderful potions if you give me some feathers."

Harry thought that would be a good idea, and earn him a comfy spot in Hagrid's menagerie. Suddenly everything went dark. The sent of cedar and spice enveloped him. He struggled a little, and managed to poke his head into a pouch of some kind. What kind of sack had deep pouches sewn into them? _It's Snape's robe, and my head is in his sleeve. What a glorious day, nothing has gone according to plan. Now I'm wrapped up in my potion master's robe being carried who knows where. _An image of the vole suddenly sprung to mind. _No! I don't want to be dissected! Let me out of here!_

"Severus, my dear boy, what are you doing?" The Headmaster's voice cut through Harry's panic. _Barmy old codger just might save my neck._

"I found a gale bird on the front step. The feathers are invaluable." Snape sounded both proud of his achievement, and annoyed that he had been interrupted.

"Severus, you are a very intelligent man. I therefore fail to understand why you grabbed a phoenix with your bare hands and stuffed it in your robe, unless you want to be seriously injured."

"It isn't a phoenix, it is a gale bird." The dark man didn't sound quite so sure of himself. "It can't call for a storm in the dungeons."

"Severus, the difference between a gale bird and a storm phoenix is roughly the same as the difference between sweets and candy. 'Gale bird' is a slang term for a storm phoenix in the process of calling forth a storm, which they can do anywhere including the dungeons."

"This day doesn't end does it?" Snape sounded defeated.

"They tend not to before sunset. Place it on the ground over there and stand back. We'll just have to hope for the best." Harry felt himself touch down on the stone floor. He fidgeted a moment, tossing the robe off his wings, but his beak was caught in the stitching of the sleeve. He shook his head a few times, but remained trapped in the sleeve. _Bugger all, I can't get out!_

"Chirp tweet chirp?" Harry asked, looking back and forth between where he thought the two men were standing. "Tweet?"

"Severus, it is your mess, clean it up."

"I fail to grasp your meaning."

"The bird is stuck and requires assistance."

"Tweet!" Harry heard footsteps, and the end of the sleeve was roughly wrenched away. "Beep!" He shouted when his tangled beak was pulled along with the sleeve. _That hurt you overgrown bat. Stupid loose threads, stupid little hook at the end of my stupid pointy beak, stupid wings, let me go. _A flash of light sparked for a moment, but whatever the magic did Harry still wasn't free.

"Here, you hold his body still and I'll take care of whatever is keeping him attached." The headmaster suggested. Harry felt long fingers fold his wings in and close around his torso. "Here's the problem, the point of his beak is hooked into this loose bit of stitching, and these loose threads wrapped around his head. Perhaps it is time to invest in a new set of robes. These seem to have quite a few loose threads all over."

"Never mind my robes. This bird looks a little like a hawk. Is it being still and quiet for the same reason trained birds are still when they have a hood on?" Harry took pleasure in the note of unease in the man's voice.

"If he wants to peck or scratch at us there is little we can do once he is untangled, though I daresay we will have more to worry from the lightning flashes. He must have been thrashing for quite some time to be so thoroughly tied up."

Finally Harry was free, and the potion professor placed him on a small side table. He was in one of the unused classrooms on the ground floor. It had once been used for charms, but the high shelves weren't to Professor Flitwick's taste. Harry continued to look around while the two older men made their way slowly to the door. When they had just about gotten to the doorway, Harry leapt into the air and glided toward them. Snape reacted like death itself was coming for him, while the headmaster ducked and conjured up a bronze shield. Harry chased the panicked potion master all the way to his personal rooms, dive-bombing the portrait before it could shut him out. He settled himself on the back of a black leather chair, while Snape hid under his desk.

"Go away now; you don't want to be in this nasty hole do you? You want to be outside in the fresh air. Go away pretty bird." A pair of black eyes and the top of a greasy head peeked out from behind the desk. "I'm not going to do anything."

"Beep." Harry preened some of his feathers. This was fun, and if Snape really wanted his feathers as ingredients he could stay. _It would be nice to stay with Hagrid, but Snape would leave me alone for long periods of time. I could get my homework done right for once if I can get into the library. Snape would have mentioned Hagrid if he was available to help with the dangerous bird he 'captured.'_

"Why aren't you leaving?" The dark head retreated back under the desk. "Either attack something or go." Harry just kept preening, which felt wonderful after his long flight. He found something stuck between the feathers on his chest, and flapped a bit to blow it out. Papers blew all over in the wind from his massive wings, and three little feathers fell to the ground. The 'something' turned out to be a dead feather stuck sideways against his skin. Snape crawled slowly out from behind the desk.

"Are you going to stay and give me feathers?" Snape asked very quietly.

_As long as you feed me I'll stick around. _Harry thought, looking for any other loose feathers. _I hate Snape so this is the last place anyone would ever look for me. Ten points for Potter, none for the collective wizarding world._

"Somehow, this is precisely my kind of luck." The dazed man surveyed his windswept sitting room. Harry couldn't agree more.

Harry sat perched on the coffee table near the fireplace. Snape's personal rooms were done in deep blue, light brown, and warm wood. The furniture seemed old, but well taken care of. There weren't any Slytherin banners or torture equipment, and the stone floors were covered in worn, but pleasant rugs. Currently, Snape was out looking for the headmaster. Harry could only assume that since Dumbledore had a phoenix Snape was going to ask him for advice. This gave Harry the chance to use the loo, splash some soapy water on his face and hands, and change back without anyone the wiser.

The two professors returned, one looking rather irate and the other faintly amused.

"You won't get him to leave if he has decided to stay, Severus. Phoenixes are headstrong creatures, possessed of their own agenda, storm phoenixes more so than others."

"What you mean is that this bird has decided to be my familiar, and it is highly doubtful that he will change his mind."

"If the incident on the stair did not change his mind I doubt anything will. He has most likely been following you for some time." _More like trying to avoid him for the past five years, but let's run with it._

"I have a pet." Snape seemed to be testing out the idea, as if the opportunity had never presented itself before.

"I know you aren't the best with animals, but phoenixes are careful when they choose whom they choose to live with. This is a great opportunity for you. Storm phoenixes have great magical power and come to the aid of their owner in times of need. They can attack fiercely, calling forth torrential rains, lightning, and hail. However, they are not the most loyal of pets. As storms come and go, so do storm phoenixes. They leave after a few years or so. When whatever they hoped to accomplish has been completed or the winds blow against them, they pack up and leave. I will warn you that they hate cages. Fawkes gets furious whenever someone so much as suggests he travel with his ankle in a small chain or rope fastened to his perch. It is common to anchor pet birds, but never for a phoenix." Snape sunk into the leather chair while he listened.

"Their feathers are very valuable potions ingredients."

"It is most unfortunate that the only value you put on animals has to do with what you can put in your cauldron. Then again, not everyone is interested in Care of Magical Creatures."

"It is a curiosity for the wealthy, a profession for near squibs, and a distraction for overly brave idiots."

"To each his own, Severus, to each his own. Is there any value in the other parts of a storm phoenix?" The old man seemed keen to ensure the professor would not put his new pet into a cauldron.

"The tears have healing abilities, similar to that of light or fire phoenixes such as Fawkes. The ashes can be used as an enhancer. Most benevolent potions, those meant for healing or lifting spirits, are greatly enhanced by a very small amount of phoenix ash. Fawkes has never let me near his ashes; I don't have the slightest idea why." Harry chirped and the two men looked at him, just now remembering that he was still in the room.

"Would you like to meet Fawkes . . .? Oh that's right you don't have a name yet. What do you say, Severus? Perhaps something that fits the way you met him?" The potion master's face was blank, which was normal for him when not angry, but this was a more honest blankness. "How about Leonard, it is a nice name don't you think?"

"Leonard?" Snape did a double take, and Harry made a gagging noise. _I will not be answering to Leonard._ "How did you come up with that?"

"I'm an old man, what do I know about naming things? That's a job for young people in the prime of their lives, a skill for those of the proper age to have children."

"Avius comes to mind." Snape thought out loud, looking at the black and green bird.

"Only you could name a companion 'loneliness' and think it is a good idea."

"Imber would work; it is the Latin word for thunderstorm." Harry chirped and flew over to Snape's shoulder. _It won't get much better than that with these two._

The odd threesome made the slow assent to the Headmaster's office in relative silence. Harry's keen vision picked up the movements of the portraits they passed. The gossip chain was moving full speed, and many less subtle portraits pointed at him during their hushed conversations. When the two professors sat down Harry perched on Snape's knee. Fawkes chirped in greeting, but had not yet grown back enough feathers to fly. The baby bird looked at Harry oddly, but Harry stood his ground.

"Ah yes, a more formal setting for a more formal conversation."

"I don't see the point in doing this, Headmaster." Snape grumbled.

"You might have seen something, but dismissed it as unimportant at the time. In any case I would like to see the entire event for myself." Dumbledore opened a cabinet and pulled out a pensive. "I know you gave a full report to the Order, but it doesn't hurt to double check."

"The boy ran off, and I chased him. I stopped chasing him when the nimble brat scurried under a fence like a terrified rabbit. I tried to go over the fence and twisted my ankle, which is healing well, not that you asked."

"Now Severus, while you were concentrating on the fence he could have come out on the side and made good his escape."

"If he was anywhere within ten miles of that park the detection spell Lupin cast when he arrived would have pointed us strait to him. Somehow the boy managed to get out of that range in less than fifteen minutes time. Do you suppose he sprouted wings and flew away?" Harry looked at Snape, but the surly man appeared to be joking.

"Don't be ridiculous, Severus. Muggles have many means of travel, and some can manage very high speeds. Just give it a try." The potions master took a deep breath, then placed his wand to his temple and pulled out two silvery threads. He swirled them around in the basin for a moment, then sat back.

"Go ahead and look. I have replayed it in my own mind enough times already." Snape declared. Dumbledore nodded and stuck his head into the pensive. Several quiet moments went by, and Snape gave Harry a cautious pat on the head. Harry was amazed at how good the soft caress felt, and leaned back into it. Fawkes gave a decidedly jealous twitter.

"_Snape is mine for the next few months. You have that manipulative Headmaster to pet your head."_ Harry chirped in his exotic way.

"_What do you mean by that? Aren't you going to stay with your human?"_ Harry was shocked to hear Fawkes' words, but they didn't seem to correlate with any sounds.

"_Excuse me, but how can I hear you?"_ Harry flew over to Fawkes' perch.

"_You've never spoken with another of your own kind before? Oh! You are a young one. Hardly any sparkle to you at all. It is a form of what humans call telepathy. The sounds we make are superficial, only meant for attracting attention," _Fawkes chirped.

"_So I can talk to you just by thinking?"_

"_You have to want me to hear what you are thinking about, but yes. Can you explain you're earlier comment?"_

"_I am only going to be around for the summer, then I have to go back home."_

"_I heard Storms were migratory, but I have to admit I have never met one of your kind before. Please forgive my curiosity. You speak of your human with his original name, is that normal?"_

"_Snape is Snape, what other name would fit him?"_

"_I call him Dark Knight."_ Harry started laughing._ "What is so funny?"_

"_That is a little dramatic don't you think. What do you call the Headmaster, White Avenger or something?"_

"_I call him my Friend, as he asked me to. Sometimes I call him Old Codger, but that's beside the point._

"_I think Severus Snape fits him. What do you know about what is going on?"_ Harry hoped he could get some information about the Order through Fawkes.

"_There is a boy I have seen many times, who is very valuable. Sometimes, I do not understand human behavior, but this child I understand. He has been given great tasks, greater than most adults could handle, so that he may grow strong. His purpose to me is hard to comprehend. My Friend often tells the child things in a way that he could not possibly understand right away, and sends him into dangerous places while appearing to protect him. The Dark Knight often has to do the actual work of protecting the child, but this is also strange. The Dark Knight does not seem to like the child, and is cruel to him at every opportunity, and yet he still protects this child. This strange boy has gone missing, and these humans and others have been doing things in their way to try and find him." _Fawkes shook his bald head in frustration. "_They treat him poorly then spend hours wondering why he might have left. If he were a bird, he would have flown the instant he grew wings."_

"_Perhaps he did." _Harry cocked his head to the side. "_Wizards can change their form. He might have flown away on a pair of magic wings."_

"_Such changes are beyond the ability of a child such as he is. Though he has managed many things in his life, and many of those things are remarkable, I doubt a child raised by Muggles would do such a thing. It is in his nature to be sneaky, but not where the use of magic is concerned. His spellwork is straightforward and his motives noble."_

"_You seem to have great respect for this child."_

"_Yes, with what I have seen him, the child has more than earned my deepest respect."_

"I see our feathered friends are becoming acquainted." The Headmaster spoke. "Unfortunately you are correct, Severus. There isn't anything out of place that could have aided Harry in his escape. He seems to have simply vanished."

"The boy will get cold and hungry tonight. A few missed meals and the spoiled little brat will come crying home." Snape groused.

"_I doubt that." _Harry spoke without thinking.

"_As do I, the child has gone long periods without eating in the past."_

"_How do you know?"_

"_His reactions to food at certain times of the year give it away. He always eats much more at the beginning and end of term, and never leaves anything on his plate. It is more than simply having been taught not to waste food. He places a high value not only on the food itself, but those responsible for its preparation."_

"I don't think our avian compatriots agree with that assessment." Albus sighed. "I know what Fawkes sounds like when he doesn't agree with me and that is precisely the tone."

"What does Fawkes know about Potter?"

"Quite a bit more than I do. He took to following the boy around after that incident with the basilisk, don't ask me why."

"You don't honestly expect me to believe that a second year student fought a basilisk, do you Headmaster?" Snape's tone indicated this was not the first time he expressed this opinion.

"_I did it because you deliberately placed him in harms way. That child had a strong presence and commanding nature when he was in that chamber, but it seemed to evaporate once the danger passed. I wanted to know if it would reappear."_

"_Did it?"_ Harry was amazed at Fawkes' opinion of him.

"_Yes, but only when he was in the greatest of mortal peril."_

"I refuse to argue that point yet again, my boy." The headmaster turned to the two chattering phoenixes and smiled. "If only we could talk to them, think of the revelations. It would be amazing."

"_Yeah right."_ Harry crooned.

"Somehow I doubt that." Snape snapped.

"_The two of you make a good match."_

"_I don't know about that."_

EDIT: A few word choice alterations, to make a few awkward phrases work better. Added in that Snape does not belive that Harry slew a basilisk in his second year.


	3. A Routine Broken

3: **A Routine Broken**

Life with Snape was rather dull. The man got up around eight, didn't fully wake up until his second cuppa, and read the paper. Harry pecked at bird seed while Snape tucked away a bowl of plain cream of farina. Once breakfast was over Snape grabbed some potions journals and headed into his private laboratory. He mixed some simple potions, including some for the infirmary, while reading about the latest theories. A bell went off in the lab and Snape stopped for a quick lunch, and then settled down behind his desk to do paperwork while that morning's experiments simmered. Around four the paperwork was put away and the more volatile ingredients taken out. Dinner appeared on a sideboard in the lab, and was ignored for hours. The experimentation went on into the night, only stopping when Snape ran out of steam. The thin man had a short shower and fell into bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Harry/Imber found himself fascinated with the cauldrons of bubbling ingredients, perching on Snape's shoulder to read the potion journals. It occurred to Imber that he had never actually witnessed Snape brew a potion before, only bark out instructions and belittle the Gryffindors. Snape appeared to enjoy the difficult task of recreating the experiments, and it was the first time Imber had even heard of the abrasive man appearing happy. On the second day Imber made a point to squawk when the dinner arrived until Snape looked over.

"It can't be eight already." Snape glanced over at an old clock that hung on the wall near his desk. "I'll eat once I finish this up." After another half hour Imber flew over to Snape's shoulder and clocked him on the back of the head. The potions master had been about to start a new cauldron.

"What? Oh, dinner. I suppose this can wait." The man seemed a little put out about having to stop to do something as boring as eating before his body protested its lack of nourishment. Snape turned to Imber. "It's Sunday tomorrow, I'll have to clean things up when I'm done. No potions on Sundays." Again, the man seemed almost sad about the self-imposed rule. "I'll need to do something with you. No matter what you find interesting while I am making potions, I doubt you will stare with rapt attention as I relax." Imber didn't know what Snape was talking about. He seemed perfectly relaxed as he busied about his work, the picture of efficiency and contentment.

The first deviation was when Snape came out of the loo that night he did not set his alarm. 'Imber' settled onto the perch Snape placed on a side table when he had first arrived and went to sleep. Imber woke at the crack of dawn, as usual, but Snape didn't stir. He noticed the only window was ajar, and took the opportunity to leave.

Imber circled around the castle, angling toward the library. He needed to do his homework sometime this summer, and to do that he would need books. During the height of the Twin's prank war against Umbrage, a few windows in the library had been badly damaged when a large dragon shaped firework hit Madam Prince's extra shielding. Since some of the stonework had been damaged by the wild magic the reaction unleashed, a simple 'Reparo' would not work. Whoever tried to fix it would have to first wait for the residual magic to dissipate, and then re-sculpt the stone. If luck was on his side, Imber could get in for the next few weeks.

When Imber turned the last corner around a tower he smiled. A small but manageable hole was still in the sill of the center windows. It was shielded so bugs and rain could not get in, but the temporary magical screen was easy enough to push through. It closed behind him and Imber surveyed the large room. Ten minutes later Imber decided there was no alarm set to alert anyone if the small hole was breeched. Imber turned back into Harry and realized he was still carrying the sack he had made out of Dudley's old shirt. It must have transfigured with him, along with his clothes.

_I won't be doing the assignments from memory at least._ Harry settled down at a desk and began to work.

In the Dungeons, Severus Snape slowly sat up. He stretched, looking at the softly ticking clock on his nightstand. Eleven o'clock on the dot, the same as every Sunday. The thin man sat there for a few moments, enjoying the small luxury of being in bed so late in the day. _I wonder where Imber is. _Snape dressed in one of his better robes and went over to the small round table in the corner of the main room. He hit a small bell to signal the house elves. His customary Sunday breakfast popped into being a moment later. Snape tucked in to two eggs, toast, butter, a small pot of tea, and two small pancakes.

Imber flew in just as Snape polished off the eggs. The bird made a distressed warble and promptly turned away from the table. Severus looked at the odd bird for a few moments before returning to his meal.

_Perhaps it was the eggs._ Snape thought to himself._ If I saw a bird eating a baby human I would be rather distressed myself._

_I can't believe I almost fell off this perch!_ Imber shook his head, embarrassed at the near miss. _Leaving my things in that study room must have changed my center of gravity._ Once Imber pieced together his tattered pride, he perched on the edge of the table. He waited until Snape cut the pancakes into small enough pieces, and he made his move.

"Your food is in the dish." Snape pointed to the small bronze dish next to Imber's perch. It was full of seeds and dried fruit, but couldn't come close to the sticky sweet taste of hot pancakes with syrup and butter. Imber just looked up at the skinny man with wide, sorrow filled eyes. Snape grumbled and continued eating, and Imber stole two other slices of pancake. Finally Snape just ordered another pancake and let Imber have half of it.

After breakfast Snape walked over to the large bookshelves and made a few selections. Two Dark Arts books, one novel, and a little red book Imber couldn't identify were stacked next to the large leather chair.

"I do not plan on moving from this chair very much for the remainder of the day. Go do whatever wild birds do when left alone." Snape settled down into the comfy chair.

Imber busied himself by poking around the books a little. The titles weren't all that surprising. One shelf had Defense Against Dark arts or Dark Arts books on it. Above that shelf were novels, mostly mystery and romance. The lower two shelves were stuffed with potion books. On a pedestal was an open book with many bookmarks sticking out of it. Imber perched on the edge and peered at the thick volume.

"Those bookmarks are for my first through third year lesson plans, touch them and I will find a way to cause you considerable discomfort." Snape hadn't even looked up from the old volume in his hands when he spoke.

Imber looked down at the heavily used teacher's book. It was open to a potion he recognized from second year. He noticed large portions of the header were marked with a thin red X. It included an exceptionally dry explanation of how the different ingredients reacted and why the potion worked as it did. It was the same style and quality of Professor Binn's History lectures, but Imber was of two minds about its elimination. On the one hand it would be torture to hear that read aloud, and he was glad Professor Snape hadn't forced the class to endure it. On the other, it explained vital information that gave a meaning to every action listed in the procedure of brewing the potion. Then again, Professor Snape is highly gifted in logical thought. To him the passage, which to Imber was tedious but worthwhile, might simply be redundant and migraine-inducing.

Unfortunately, without the background information even the most logical person could get lost in the procedure. It occurred to Imber that the only students who did exceptionally well in professor Snape's class fell into two categories: those with photographic memories and those who read a lot. There were a few exceptions, but they were mostly very wealthy. Malfoy could certainly afford a tutor, either so he could learn the basics before going to Hogwarts or during the holidays. Imber knew the Weasleys, like most magical families, had been taught reading and mathematics by their mother. It made sense that very basic magic could be taught as well. Imber carefully turned the page, making sure the yellow bookmark remained in place.

The explanations didn't get any more exciting, but after a half hour Imber began to predict the reactions before reading them. These were very simple potions after all, and he did know some of it already. He had recognized some patterns in class and remembered others he had read about in his student textbook, but the information was never so complete. _Hermione would give her right arm to read this. She is just anal enough to love this._

"Imber, are you reading that book?" Snape was thoroughly confused, and it showed. Imber chirped and nodded, pointing a feather at the crossed out paragraphs above a potion not marked for use in class. "You can read?"

_No, I just like to look at the pretty scribbles and slashes you put in the margin._ Imber thought sarcastically as he turned back to the book, following his place with his feather to show where he was in the text. Snape watched him a few moments before the new information sunk in.

"You can't be enjoying that idiotic blathering. I've been trying to get the school board to approve a better teacher's text for years. They say the author pays good attention to detail, I say it's redundant. Why not describe the exact way candlelight flickers off powered toad skin? It isn't necessary." Snape seemed to enjoy the small tirade. "If you wish to bore yourself to death, be my guest. Just remember that I gave you ample warning."

Imber spent the next week glued to Snape, fighting to make sense of the many experiments he was watching. When it wasn't practical to stay on the man's shoulder he watched from the rafters or read over the scribbled notes, ancient tomes, and potion journals littering the laboratory. Professor McGonagall had promised Harry a seat in Advanced Potions, but that didn't mean he deserved it. If he got into the class without the necessary grade Professor Snape would be well within his rights to toss Harry out if he couldn't perform to the class's standards.

To Imber's great surprise, potions became quite interesting when Snape wasn't barking out orders. The potion master even started mumbling to Imber while they were in the lab. He wasn't teaching per se, just a stream of consciousness rationalization for whatever the man did. The deep, dulcet tones rose and fell with the man's mood. It provided a great deal of information quickly, if not always logically. Snape was apparently capable of great leaps of thought, often jumping back and forth between two separate trains of thought until they either merged or one failed to prove useful.

Imber now knew why the man never brewed anything during class. Snape forgot about everything while he was working, focusing all his energy on what he was doing. He could barely remember to eat and drink, controlling a class would be out of the question.

Harry returned to his human form Sunday morning to continue his homework. He put off the potion assignments, since he would know much more about the subject in another week or two. It was odd how easily he fit into Snape's daily life. The man wasn't exactly outgoing and social, and it stung a bit when Harry thought of how right some of the more vicious things said about his professor were. He was an oily, friendless man who taught potions, spied for the order of the phoenix, and spent days on end without leaving his chambers. He also wondered what would happen when and if Snape was called by the Dark Lord.

When he returned he found that Snape had ordered an extra plate with two pancakes topped with strawberry jam and placed it on the opposite side of the small round table. With an appreciative chirp Imber tucked in.

"Albus came by while you were outside. It appears we are being evicted for the afternoon so that the house elves can track a colony of mice that recently appeared. They haven't been able to find their nests with small spells, so the entire castle will be scanned in four overlapping sections. The residual effects from the magic won't wear off until late in the evening. They have already begun to move the contents of my storeroom into the Slytherin Locker room in the Quidditch stadium, since the magical blast would ruin most of my supplies." Snape took a sip of his tea. "I'm running low on a few ingredients anyway, and I need to return a few books to the library in Hogsmeade."

Imber chirped and snapped up another sticky pancake slice. _Forced from his lair, the rare Snape-vole searches for a similar place to reside until the danger passes; often finding shelter in apothecaries and libraries._ Imber giggled, the bubbly birdsong startling his companion.

"I suppose a bird would be happy for a change in routine that involves going outside for the day." Snape commented, finishing his eggs. A half hour later Snape packed a small bag of books he needed to return and some bird food. Imber lifted off Snape's shoulder when they reached the main doors of the castle, soaring up to turn a few circles around the lake while his companion walked to the gate.

Imber dove down when he saw Snape locking the gate behind him. Snape raised his arm for Imber to land on, but that put the meter long tail on the wrong side of Snape's thin frame. Imber spent a few minutes facing behind them before the professor realized he had trapped the silky feathers under his armpit.

"Squawk at me or something next time I do that, we look ridiculous." He snapped, gently untangling the tail. "If you wish to watch my back, stay in the air." Imber fanned his tail, creating a right angle wedge of green edged in silver across Snape's right side. It resembled the flashy capes Gilderoy Lockhart often wore pulled to one side.

"Message received, we could look more ridiculous if we try. All I need is a peacock embroidered on the other shoulder." Imber snapped his tail against Snape's arm and let out a toot. "I did not wish to imply I would rather have a peacock following me around, merely that you are impressive enough with your tail folded, and I have no desire to make a spectacle of myself."

_I meant 'I agree' not 'I'm offended.' _Imber shook his head, but couldn't think of any way of correctly communicating his meaning. Snape acknowledged that he had misinterpreted the gesture.

They arrived in Hogsmeade without further incident and headed directly to the library. Imber perched on the 'no pets' sign as Snape walked in. It was not surprising that Snape's only mirror was small and had been hexed into silence. It functioned as the door to a medicine cabinet over the bathroom sink. It was far enough above the basin so Snape could see if he had toothpaste on his face, and small enough that that was all he would see. This meant it was too high for Harry or Imber to see much of anything at all, since it was very difficult to maneuver in the tiny room as a bird. He could get a good look at his tail and feet, but his neck wasn't long enough to see much of his body. The library had mirrored windows on some of the private reading rooms, so he winged his way onto the sill of the closest one.

It was a little surprising, even after the descriptions he heard. He saw a bright white crest on his forehead, obviously the animagus form of his curse scar. It stuck up about a centimeter right between his eyes, which retained their neon green color. His body was black as pitch, but the underside of his wings was a deep emerald. He was roughly the shape of a hawk. The tail could be fanned out into a thin screen about a meter long strait back with rounded sides a half meter long, forming a pear shape. It didn't have 'eyes' like a peacock tail, just a glint of silver at the edge. His claws resembled brushed steel hooks at the end of his black four-toed feet. All his feathers were glossy enough to shine in the sunlight.

Imber returned to his perch on the sign, shocked. He had thought he was a little duller looking, and the crest was a bit of a surprise. Harry had never considered himself pretty, but it was clear Imber was a knockout. _I wonder if it's odd I refer to my animagus form by name even in my head. The marauders gave their forms names, but they weren't working under normal conditions._ He snorted. _Not that I'm living under normal conditions either. _Snape emerged from the library and Imber returned to his shoulder. _I did have to learn to answer to my new name. I suppose it's easier to name my bird body on some level. Ugh, I don't know why I bother; I don't know the first thing about psychology!_

They entered the apothecary while Imber was still deep in thought about his self-induced identity crisis. He was glad to be shocked out of that line of thought when the shopkeeper gasped and started talking rapidly.

"I don't believe it, where did you find him Severus? He is magnificent! Do you get many tears or just feathers so far? I told you, didn't I? You were due for some good luck for a change. Could I see him? Or is it a girl?" The witch had silver hair and brown eyes behind very thick glasses.

"His name is Imber, and I didn't find him anywhere. He followed me home. I'm not sure if he would let you handle him, and I'm quite sure I couldn't force him if he didn't want to." Snape cut off the rambling old woman and raised his right arm. "Climb down to Mrs. Piedmont's level if you want to be petted and fawned over, Imber."

Imber looked at the ecstatic old woman for a few moments, and then cautiously inched sideways down the tall man's arm. The shopkeeper attempted to pick him up, but Imber grabbed onto Snape's sleeve with his feet, mindful of his claws on the thin summer robes. After a second tug, the professor spoke up.

"I don't think Imber has any intention of moving, and he does have rather sharp claws. He hasn't cut me yet, but if you keep pulling on him I am quite sure I will have six rather deep gashes in my forearm."

"He is a lovely bird." Mrs. Piedmont seemed a little disappointed, but started petting and preening the increasingly uncomfortable bird. When he had enough he flew around her in a double loop before landing on Snape's left shoulder. "A bit on the shy side, but that is their nature I suppose. Now Severus, I'm sure you didn't come here to show off your new pet. What do you need?" Snape gave her a long list, all of which was packed into the bag along with the books.

"Three-thirty, and the castle won't be ready for habitation until ten." Snape mumbled in the same tone he used in the laboratory.

"What was that?" The crotchety woman asked.

"Just talking to Imber, the castle is being fumigated by the house elves. Professors Dumbledore, Trelawney, Firenze, and I were required to vacate for the duration."

"You were speaking to your pet bird. Have you been working with any particularly pungent potions lately? I believe the fumes may have gotten to you."

_Are you implying that I am a bird-brain?_ Imber squawked in indignation, glaring at the myopic shopkeeper._ I'm no ordinary bird and I can prove it too!_ He hopped down to the counter and grabbed the quill in his beak. With great effort he scratched some very warped words in the margin of her ledger.

"Well I'll be! I'm not sure if I should be amazed or insulted."

"I had no idea his vocabulary was so wide-ranging." The acerbic professor offered. "I wonder what the greater issue is: the implication that I'd gone around the twist or that he wasn't capable of understanding us."

"He seems rather adamant about both mistakes. I must agree with his point though, you did ask him to climb down your arm if he wanted to be fawned over and it was plain he understood you."

"A simple correction spell should remove it from your books."

"Why would I want to remove it? That is my proof that I was ripped up one side and down the other by a phoenix. It isn't often I get my intelligence insulted by an avian. This is going in my scrapbook, regardless of the quality of the handwriting, or should I say beak-writing?" The ancient lady giggled in a very disturbing manner as the odd pair left the apothecary.

Snape wandered around Hogsmeade for a while, wandering into shops at random. Snape mumbled sarcastic comments about the quality or price of various things. It was clear that the thin man didn't have a great deal of money, though it was certainly enough for him to live comfortably. He saved up and bought high quality things that would last for years rather than cheap things he would have to replace quickly, which explained why he didn't look poor. Snape relied heavily on the allowance he was given as Hogwarts Potion Master to pay for his experimentation, and the house elves for food.

Those who knew Snape worked for the order seemed to agree that the man worked at Hogwarts to help him with his duties as a spy, since he didn't seem to like teaching that much. He seemed to fit in with Malfoy's crowd of people, so others wondered why he accepted a teacher's salary. Imber now realized that no other job would allow Snape to work on so many potion experiments without bankrupting him.

Around six they had done all the window shopping there was to do. After freeing Imber from another stunned bird enthusiast, Snape walked to the edge of town and had Imber move down to his forearm.

"I'm not certain I can apparate with you on my shoulder without splinching one or both of us. I will have to hold my arm close to my chest, or I might leave that behind instead of you." It took Imber three seconds to process that sentence, and he didn't like the implications at all. He had seen the twins apparate with arms spread wide in an attempt to scare someone with their sudden appearance. Most wizards took a decent chunk of air with them; the sudden displacement of that air is what caused the pop. The quiet little note Snape made, coupled with his admission that anything more than a few centimeters away would be left behind, sent a spark of fear through Imber.

"Nap." Imber squawked, bending over to lift his tail and tuck it into Snape's outer robes. He then flattened himself against his professor, pressing his large wings forward a little like a hug.

"I am not that bad at it." Snape argued, but helped tuck in the tail anyway. "I simply am not naturally talented at charms." The argument would be more convincing if the thin man hadn't hugged Imber closer. With a soft pop the two disappeared.

"I've been putting this off, but I suppose it has to be done." Snape continued when they appeared. Imber was surprised to see that they were outside The Burrow. Imber took off, soaring up to perch on the lowest of the crooked roofs. The door opened as the odd pair approached.

"Professor, thank heaven you came! We've tried everything, but it just won't budge." Mrs. Weasley sounded a little tired, but still managed to be cheerful. "I got a good look at the spice rack, so I can tell you what is in it, but not the amounts."

"Just take me to the mess; I'm sure there is a simple solution to whatever went wrong." Imber flew around the outside of the house as Snape followed Mrs. Weasley to the kitchen. Large patches of the walls were covered in a hard purple substance.

" . . .even a hammer and chisel won't take it off!" Mrs. Weasley finished as Imber settled on a purple-dotted window sill.

"At least it is inert. How long did it take to harden?" Snape was examining a particularly thick deposit on the far wall.

"About two hours. Before then we had been mopping it up the Muggle way."

"Is there a small piece anywhere that isn't attached to a wall or floor I could use for testing?" Mrs. Weasley was already shaking her head.

"I'd finished washing all the pots and things before it started hardening. All that is left are the walls, some of the floor, and the ceiling." Imber hopped off the sill and glided to a thick puddle in one corner. It reminded Imber of the foam used in insulation in Muggle homes, a type of plastic that filled in the cracks around windows. It got rock hard, but was usually yellowish. The gunk stuck to the Weasley's kitchen was a violent purple. Charlie walked into the kitchen and started apologizing immediately.

"I'm so sorry; I don't know what to say! I've never even heard of Alison getting drunk before, but her parents just told me she's been through two alcoholism programs in the last five years. I can't believe she would show up drunk." The muscular redhead leaned back against the purple coated doorframe.

"This Alison upturned the spice rack that held the family's potion stores over the stove, correct?" Snape was attempting to scratch off a sample without any luck.

"Yes." Mrs. Weasley snapped. "It ruined the stew and the explosion took out half the furniture. She will not be coming over for dinner again."

"Great Merlin, it's a Storm Phoenix!" Charlie had looked down at the corner where Imber was standing on the thick purple mess.

"Imber, tired of flying already, or is something amiss?" Imber shook his head at Snape's raised eyebrow, and made a retching sound. Snape was at his side in a moment. "You didn't do something as stupid as swallowing some of this atrocity, did you." It was Imber's turn to look at the thin man inquiringly.

"I think it was a comment on the current décor, not that I disagree in the slightest." Mrs. Weasley bustled about, showing her continued annoyance. Imber nodded to show she was right, and the professor backed away. When Imber went to follow, one of his inner claws stuck into the purple potion. He screeched in panic, instinct causing him to lash out with his claws. His foot was now well and fully stuck in the odd potion. Snape began working at it with a small knife, but Imber didn't calm down until Snape's other hand came up to pet him gently.

"Steady, Imber, I've almost got it. It would appear that the potion has only hardened on the outside. Anything sufficiently strong can cut into it and expose the liquid interior, the way Imber's claws have. The first few centimeters are semisolid, and exceptionally sticky." The sunny sky outside was quickly being replaced with thick thunderclouds, but the three human occupants didn't notice until a bolt of lightning landed right outside the window. In the blink of an eye all three had jumped across the room.

"Mum, is everything alright in here?" Ron's voice cut through the deadly silence. "That storm came out of nowhere!"

"Ron! Ginny! Get back. We have an angry storm phoenix in the house, and it's summoned a storm." Imber wasn't feeling very well, and without Snape holding him up he was beginning to sink. The corner didn't have enough room to flap properly, and he called out again.

"Stop flapping about, you are making it worse!" Snape roared, seizing the sticky bird under the wings and pulling him out of the goop. As soon as he was clear, Imber twisted out of Snape's grip and made a bee line for the window. Rain was pouring down in buckets now, but Imber still managed to soar up to the clouds. After a few minutes of circling, Imber floated down to the windowsill.

"I have some dragon claw tools, but we use them for performing surgery on the dragons. If we could be sure about getting this stuff off the tools when we are done, I could use them."

"Twerp chirr swap coo." Imber happily babbled out a song from his perch on the windowsill. Thunder rolled in the distance as he lifted his claw for inspection. No trace of the smelly purple substance remained, but the skin was irritated and he felt very tired. He let out a long birdie yawn and flew over to Snape's shoulder.

"I shudder to think of the volume of water involved, but Imber appears to have found a solution. In liquid form, this atrocity can be cleaned up with simple rainwater. I would suggest a water-tight charm be placed on all the walls, doors, and floor. We could then use an umbrella charm to direct the rain into the kitchen. First we need to remove anything you don't want waterlogged."

Ginny, Ron, Fred, George, Charlie, Molly, and Snape quickly stripped down the kitchen. Snape busied himself collecting samples from the puddle Imber cracked as the charms were applied to the wood framing of the house. Imber was dozing lightly throughout the flurry of activity, enjoying the warm softness on Snape's shoulder. When the assembled Weasleys and Snape walked outside the sun was starting to peak through the clouds.

"Imber, do you think you could bring back some of the rain?" Snape lifted the sleepy bird from his shoulder. Imber opened his green eyes and swished his tail a little bit. The sun slipped back behind a cloud, but the light rain didn't get any heavier.

_I'm so sleepy, and I'm not sure how I did it in the first place. One panicked tantrum a day, please._ Snape cradled him, petting the tired bird softly.

"It appears Imber has had enough excitement for today."

"Couldn't he just keep it going like it is now? We don't need a drenching, just steady going for a little while." Fred and George asked.

"He is only a baby." Snape grumbled. "One in need of a nap, it appears." Imber sighed and snuggled into Snape's robes.

"How long have you had him, professor?" Charlie was talking now.

"A little over two weeks, and he isn't much older than that according to the headmaster." Snape walked back inside, conjuring up a pillow and blanket.

"Is everything alright?" Mrs. Weasley hovered over them like a mother hen.

"He is too warm, it isn't normal. Imber likes to take baths in near boiling water, but even right out of the cauldron he isn't warm to the touch."

"Ginny, go fill a bowl with cold water from the tap upstairs." Mrs. Weasley helped Snape fashion a nest out of the green blanket and pillow on the living room table.

"Are you sure that stuff was inert?" Charlie wondered.

"Absolutely, the irritation on his claw is from being ripped out of it so suddenly. Drat, it's only six-forty-five. The castle won't be habitable for another three hours and fifteen minutes at least."

"What do you mean?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"The house elves are fumigating. They found some mice and couldn't trace them back to their nests for whatever reason. The magical residue won't clear out until ten tonight, and Albus is the only one I know of who qualified to tell me what to do with Imber."

"Nap." Imber insisted. "Cheep eee nap."

"Imber seems to think he needs a nap, so we should just leave him alone." Ron said in a rare flash of insight. "He even said 'Snape, I nap.' It doesn't get much clearer from a bird." Imber meant to nod in agreement, but yawned instead.

"I have the water, Mum."

"Set it down on the table next to him. If he has a fever he should drink something." Imber just stuck his head under his wing and went to sleep.

At seven thirty Arthur Weasley came home to see Professor Snape asleep sitting up in a chair near the fireplace, head propped up by a long fingered hand. A bird was bundled up on the coffee table with a dish of water nearby. Having lived through fathering seven children he was used to coming home to strange sights, but this was definitely in the top ten. He went to enter the kitchen, but was greeted by a wall of water held up by magic two meters tall.

"Honey?" Arthur called out uncertainly. "Why is the kitchen under water?"

"Professor Snape thinks soaking the purple mess will soften it up again." Arthur followed the sound into their bedroom where Molly was pairing socks. "He has a new Storm Phoenix that got caught in a bit of it and came down with a fever. We found out it could be washed away when the little dear conjured up a thunderstorm. Lightning took out the pansies in the little garden under the window, and nearly gave us all heart attacks." Molly had removed Arthur's coat and hat during the explanation. "It's only a baby phoenix, not even a month old. Fell right asleep, and so did Professor Snape once we left him alone a few minutes. I wonder what Albus has him doing that would make him sleepy enough to drop off in a chair that way."

"We are all working hard these days, and from what I hear Professor Snape has a nearly unbreakable rule that Sundays are for relaxing. I was sure he wouldn't come until Monday."

"Woo" Imber called as he landed on a side table.

"Are you up and about already, Imber?" Molly gave him a good looking over. "You look fine to me, but I don't know anything about little birds."

"He hardly seems little." Imber puffed up and crooned again.

"For a phoenix he is very young, not more than a month." Imber glared at her and puffed up again, this time fanning out his tail as well. "Isn't he adorable?"

"Cree!" Imber flew back to Snape, landing on the man's head. The extra weight caused his hand to slip, and Snape woke up immediately.

"I see you are doing better. Shall we go for dinner?" Snape stretched, getting out the kinks that came from sleeping in a chair.

"Why don't you stay? The kitchen is still soaking, but we have a grill out back. I put some hamburgers on a few minutes ago, and we have a few spare ribs." Molly was cheerful as always, but there were other Weasleys to consider. The twins and Ron had just come down the stairs. Fred and George looked like they were calculating the havoc they could cause while testing new products and Ron seemed quite put out.

"No, thank you, I have other plans." Snape made his exit and headed for the apparation point. Imber assumed the position for apparation, and they left before any of Fred and George's plans could be realized.

EDIT: Word choice issues in some places, fixed an inconsistancy with Snape's second Sunday breakfast. Removed the word 'aristocratic' and replaced it with 'acerbic' when describing Professor Snape. It makes no sence given Half Blood Prince cannon. Yeah, I'm making him poorer. I also solved the question 'Where is george?' in the second half.


	4. Attachments

4: **Attachments**

They appeared in Diagon Alley near the Leaky Cauldron. Imber flew overhead while Snape made his way to wherever they were going to eat. Imber was surprised when Snape turned into Knockturn Alley, and glided down to his shoulder. There were more obstructions hanging across the street here and the last thing Imber needed was to loose Snape right before mealtime. _However I created that storm, I used up a great deal of energy. First I needed a nap, and now I'd do anything for some jam on toast._

They came up to a door under a sign that read 'Bent Wands' and walked in without a pause. Imber's jaw dropped as he looked around the establishment. The first thing noticeable was the light, open atmosphere. The walls were sky blue with light maple wood trim in the first area with pool tables, chess boards, and a small dance floor. The second most noticeable fact was the lack of witches. Men, young and old, filled the pleasant restaurant/game room. Some of them were joking around at the lavender bar that divided the two sections, others were having romantic dinners in the red and orange dining area, and some were snogging in the corner.

_Snape took us to a gay bar for dinner._ It took a few seconds for Imber to remember he wasn't human, and Snape meant nothing by it. He closed his beak with a click and focused on assimilating the information presented him.

"Is it a new concept for you, Imber?" Snape murmured as he walked over to the dining area. Imber shook his head and chirped uncertainly.

_It isn't a new concept, but I've never seen it before. The Gryffindor dorm is very masculine. There aren't any questions about these things at all, ever._ Imber avoided looking at the snogging couples and tried to get used to the less obvious interactions first.

"Severus, it's been a while." A tall man with plain brown hair came up to the professor.

"Strange, I get the impression it has not been quite long enough." Snape kept walking as he dismissed the other man. Imber wondered how anyone could wear such an offensive shade of orange when there wasn't a Chudley Cannons game going on. Even Ron didn't go so far as to wear that shade as everyday clothing.

"Come now, have a drink on me."

"If you are requesting that I overturn a glass on your head, I would gladly have a drink on you. However I doubt that is the case, so I'll just be on my way."

"Is there a problem here gentlemen?" The bartender, a huge balding man with a tattoo of a dragon on his arm, walked over to where Snape was trying to sidestep the orange man.

"Yes." Snape replied.

"No." The orange man said at the same time.

"I'm not inclined to believe you, Hayworth. Trouble just seems to follow you around." The bartender looked a little like he belonged in Hagrid's family tree. Imber decided he liked him.

"I'm just talking to my old friend Severus here." Hayworth placed his hand on Snape's shoulder. Snape went to brush him off, but Imber beat him to it. Three lines of blood appeared where Imber's small claws landed.

"Good boy, Imber." Snape stroked his head affectionately. "I see you took to heart what I said about removing filth from your vicinity. It would be a shame if your feathers became contaminated." Hayworth took a good look at the odd bird.

"What's wrong Severus can't get any human to warm your bed, so you bought a pet bird instead?" The bartender grabbed Hayworth's shoulder.

"One does not buy a phoenix, and this conversation is long overdue for an end." A small crowd had formed to watch the incident, and most nodded in approval as Hayworth was escorted to the door.

"I like the way you handled Hayworth. That slut isn't worth the air he breaths, what is his connection to you?" A feminine man broke off from the dissipating crowd. He wore blue robes that matched his soft blue eyes.

"I knew him in school. I can't say he was ever an innocent, but he was considerably less distasteful." Snape leaned casually against the bar, one hand still stroking Imber's tail feathers.

"One would hope not. By the by, my name is Adrian Palsy. What sort of bird is this Imber of yours? Clearly he is very intelligent." The wizard was in his mid to late forties, stout, with thick blond hair.

"He is a storm phoenix, but not a very old one. He understands most things, and is most useful in my potions work."

"What sort of work?"

"I am currently researching an ancient set of potions related to Skele-grow. They are documented as being able to grow back limbs to an extent, but the exact formulas have been lost. The original inventor was muggleborn, and at that time muggleborns could not force pureblood potion masters to pay royalties for the use of their formulas."

"Really? I was aware that pro-pureblood laws were in place for a long time, but I thought the healers were always exempt." The older wizard seemed honestly interested.

"The healers themselves were, yes, but those who made the potions they used were very heavily restricted. It caused many of the best potion makers to become very secretive, guarding their formulas in a myriad of clever ways."

"Is there a manuscript written in code or something of that nature you are working out of?"

"No, the potion master in question thought it was best that he never write down the key ingredients. The primary steps were given to his assistants, and are well documented. It produces a clear, watery potion that heals minor skin damage on contact, and is also used as a base for Skele-Grow."

"Wouldn't he have written it in his will?"

"He was assassinated before his forty-third birthday for precisely that reason, but since he was still young he hadn't written a will of any kind yet. I have been working by trial and error, though I have had a few breakthroughs recently."

"What do you say we have dinner and split the check? I'd love to hear more about how your bird friend fits into the puzzle you've chosen for yourself."

"Sounds like an excellent idea, though I don't have much to do with choosing what I research. I am employed as Potion Master at Hogwarts, so I choose from a list of things the governors think I ought to research."

"You work with Albus Dumbledore then. I imagine he wouldn't force you into something you found intolerable." Adrian pulled out the chair for Snape to sit when they reached a quiet but well lit area. Imber saw that the darker areas were not often used for eating food.

"He does arrange things most of the time, but one year they insisted I find out what powdered hippogriff talons did to open wounds. They expected me to produce seven scrolls on the subject when half of one would suffice."

"That would be when Mr. Malfoy's son was attacked, wouldn't it?"

"No offence to the Malfoys, but I am inclined to believe what the majority of the students reported. Young Draco was emotionally distressed when he reported the incident after all."

"What were the other students saying?"

"That he provoked the animal, unintentionally, because he wasn't listening to the professor at the time. Since Mr. Malfoy has little respect for the half-giant who teaches the class, it is highly probable."

"The eyes of children seldom see the same things we do, or the same way." The two scholarly men had a long dinner, during which Imber stole half Snape's salad. After dinner they went over to the other side of the large building to play chess.

Adrian was a master of transfiguration specializing in construction. Some of the local shops wanted extra supports in case the magic that held many of them up was compromised by stray spells in the coming war. Many didn't understand Muggle physics and the idea of load bearing walls and columns. Snape didn't understand half of it, but Imber remembered a great deal from practical science classes he took in primary school. He nodded and even agreed to balance on a truss made from transfigured toothpicks as an experiment to show why triangles are better than squares in support structures.

"Check mate. I think we've made a night of it, wouldn't you say?" Adrian proclaimed.

"I'd say so." Snape rose from the table with Adrian in tow.

"Perhaps we could meet up again sometime. I'll warn you that this is my first night off in weeks, since I can't work well around the customers. I'm booked solid for quite a while."

"I have a great deal of work of my own as well, but perhaps a correspondence would be simpler to manage?"

"Ha! Sometimes I wonder about you traditionalists. I've never considered opening a correspondence with anyone, but I do send letters. Not nearly as fancy, but they get my point across."

"Indeed. I'm sure Imber would enjoy the exercise."

"NAP!" Imber protested. _With my knowledge of geography I'd end up in Bulgaria delivering a letter to Canada!_

"He doesn't seem to like the idea. Don't you like me then?"

Imber looked around and spotted a map posted in a store window. He pointed, chirped, cooed, and gestured for a while before Snape clued in.

"You get lost easily, and would have no hope of delivering anything." Imber chirped an affirmative and Snape pet him reassuringly.

"It's a good thing you gave Severus a heads up than. He might worry about you if you got lost." Adrian reached up to stroke him as well, but Imber puffed up. He pointed to London on the map, pointed to a picture of a house, at Snape, and then traced a wild path ending up at London again. "I get it, you can always find home, or Severus, but new places that Severus doesn't currently inhabit are hard to find." Imber nodded since that was close enough and allowed himself to be stroked.

"At least you would not become hopelessly lost." Snape lowered his hands. "I suppose this is where we part ways." Snape had been about to continue his goodbyes when Adrian moved his hand from Imber's tail to Snape's neck and brought him down into a kiss. Since Snape didn't protest, Imber flew over to a nearby sign to give them some privacy.

It must have been some kiss, because Imber wasn't called back for a good five minutes. Adrian walked away as Imber tucked himself into the tiniest ball he could for apparation. Snape was blushing slightly and felt warm, but he tried not to notice.

That night Severus spent longer than usual meditating before bed. This was another thing that rubbed Imber the wrong way. In the first days that he lived with Snape, the man explained he needed a few minutes of silence to sort through his day right before bed. Snape explained that an occlumens had to put away his thoughts much the same way as a librarian shelves books. Imber had played dumb bird and pulled a book off the shelf on the subject. He learned more in the next few hours than he had in the months he had been in 'Remedial Potions.'

There had been times Harry had asked for additional information, but Snape implied that there was very little of it and he wouldn't be capable of understanding it. At the time he assumed that meant that the only other information was the magical structure of the spells involved and magical structures were written out in Arithmancy. If it was a complicated spell, the Arithmancy of the spell structures could be well above graduate level. Since Harry had never taken an Arithmancy class it was fair to say he wouldn't understand it, and technically Hermione wasn't supposed to know about it.

Imber realized that Snape had done very little instruction and a whole lot of practical demonstration, as usual. In this case that was possibly the worst thing for Harry, resulting in his abysmal performance. He had learned nothing, because Snape explained nothing, but the man seemed to honestly think Harry should be able to get the hang of it with practice. He wasn't sure if that was flattering or not, since he did pick things up quickly in practical lessons in other classes, but it didn't work. He barely knew the vocabulary involved when he started reading the advanced book on occlumency and legilimency, but he had all summer to figure that out.

Harry scoured the library, but any book on occlumency must be buried in the restricted section. No doubt Hermione would have found one for him if one was available last year, so it wasn't much of a surprise. He continued with his regular homework and returned for his pancake lunch as usual, and selected the occlumency book to read through again. It was still well beyond his ability, but made a little more sense the second time around. It referenced several other books that were beginner and intermediate level, and he filed away the titles for future reference.

Imber paid close attention to the experiments for the next few days, hoping to push the thoughts of his failed occlumency out of his mind. The first letter from Adrian Palsy arrived Monday, and Snape sent one back on Tuesday. They were rather dry, in Imber's opinion, and no one would have known the two had been kissing each other silly the last time they met. Imber vowed to stop reading the letters he carried up to the Owlry tower the instant they got personal.

On Wednesday at around eleven at night Imber noticed something was wrong. All the ingredients had just been put out for the last experiment of the night, the recreation of a new hair growing potion, but it didn't seem right. As Snape started the potion, Imber flew over to the periodical they had read that morning. He read the article carefully, checking each step as Snape performed them. Finally he saw what was out of place. In the explanation the magazine warned that the traditional use of Fuzz-root in hair related potions was not needed in this formula and would cause big problems ranging from serious side effects to in-cauldron explosion. They recommended substituting rosewood sawdust instead as a stabilizer. Snape must have missed that part or transposed the warning when he took his working notes. Imber quickly snatched the jar and put it back in the storage room.

"Imber! I wasn't done with that yet." Snape snapped, unable to stop stirring the potion for the time being. "Bring it back."

Imber brought a similar jar, this one full of rosewood sawdust, back to the table and put it in the correct order.

"That isn't the right jar, Imber." Snape added the next ingredient, allowing him to stop stirring, and walked over to the storage closet. When he walked out with the fuzz-root Imber dive-bombed him. The ensuing wrestling match upset the contents of two small cauldrons, but Snape's greater size won out in the end. Imber grabbed the magazine article as Snape dropped in the fuzz-root. Imber had braced for the explosion and was only splashed with the juices from falling containers, but the unsuspecting Professor was thrown back into the wall. A smashed jar of pomegranate extract poured all over the man's head, covering his hair and face with thick red glop.

Imber shook his head and brought over the magazine. Imber used some of the spilt pomegranate goo from Snape's head like red ink to highlight the section explaining the ingredient substitution. After he washed the sticky red substance from his face, Snape read the article again.

"It would appear that I was mistaken. In the future I will have to listen to your objections. For now, we both need to clean up. I'm covered in at least a dozen ingredients and you have formaldehyde all over you." Snape put a large cauldron full of water over a burner and dropped in a little soap for Imber, then called some house elves to take care of the mess while he took a shower.

Imber splashed happily in the rapidly heating water as the disgusting scents involved with an exploded cauldron slowly dissipated. The house elves worked quickly around him as he swam in tight circles. It was nice to soak in a hot bath and not have any reason to get out. No Aunt Petunia screaming about him being lazy, no cramped shower stall in Gryffindor tower, and nothing to do until morning.

"_Well, you look happy."_ Imber jumped when he heard Fawkes' voice.

"_You would too in my place. I just washed off about a liter of formaldehyde."_ Imber ducked under the steamy water once more. Fawkes' flight feathers were all back, but his body was covered in ruffled brown feathers rather than his fully grown sleek red.

"_Yuck, how did that happen?"_ Fawkes tested the water with a claw.

"_A potion exploded, knocked some of the jars off the walls."_

"_The joys of living with a potion master. My Friend specializes in Transfiguration, so things don't blow up often. They do start walking about on their own occasionally, or take a liking to the ceiling, but it never causes such a mess."_ Fawkes slipped into the water next to Imber. There was plenty of room, but it still made Imber a little edgy.

"_What brings you down here, besides stealing a bit of my bath?"_

"_I'm just getting away from My Friend for a while. He wants me to try to find that boy I told you about. He thinks I might be able to locate him, but I know I wouldn't have a chance. I can't find someone who does not want to be found. He is worried that the child would not be able to find food and shelter."_

"_Well if he doesn't want to be found yet then he can't be starving in a gutter somewhere, can he? I'm sure that when he is ready the boy will come back. People don't do big things just for the heck of it, at least not often, so he could come back when whatever purpose he had is taken care of. He left around the fifth of the month, right?"_

"_Yes, it was the fifth."_ Fawkes flapped a little, showering them both with citrus-scented soapy water.

"_Well it's the twenty-fourth today, so he has been gone nineteen days. You said he has gone without food for long periods in the past. If he brought some food with him and found a bare minimum of essentials somewhere, how long do you think it would take him to decide he needed to come back?"_

"_I can't say. I don't know how long he went without before, only that he has."_

"_Do you think he would miss the start of term?"_

"_No. He has taken measures to get here when things got in his way before. It is a very good point; I shall have to convey the idea to My Friend somehow."_ Fawkes climbed out of the cauldron, much to Imber's relief. It was odd sharing a bath with someone else, even if it was something birds did. _"Perhaps we old men are reading too much into this mess. Trust a child to know another child's mind. Enjoy yourself, little one!"_

Imber splashed around for a while, wondering about Fawkes' parting comments. 'Imber' was only nineteen days old, so he thoroughly qualified as a baby, but what did fifteen year old Harry qualify as? According to what he had heard about storm phoenixes, at a year old a silvery band starts to form around the neck. He didn't have one, so it seemed that his phoenix body wasn't in tune with his human body's age. _Hell with this, I'll find out if my lifespan has been tripled in a decade or so when it starts getting obvious._

The next Sunday after breakfast Imber didn't stick around. He brought a letter to Adrian up to the Owlry and went immediately back to the library. He wasn't getting enough done on his homework and wanted to get in some practice as well. The ministry could only track where magic was cast, not who cast it. He couldn't get in any trouble for practicing spells unless they were cast in his house. It was highly doubtful that the ministry would care if there was magic going on in Hogsmeade, since it was a wizard city.

He finished off his Transfiguration and History assignments and flew over to the Shrieking Shack for some practice. Most of the furniture there was ruined anyway; a few more scorches and slices wouldn't be a big deal. He turned to a list of dueling spells in his notes and started firing off curses at an old table.

Severus Snape wondered where Imber had flown off to so quickly, but figured that he had gone to spend time with Fawkes or just soar around the castle for a few hours. Birds like doing things like that, after all. When Imber didn't come back that evening, he figured that the bird was staying up in the Owlry or fell asleep in a tree after a long day of physical exercise. Snape lingered a little when Imber was missing at breakfast, and had a hard time concentrating on his paperwork that morning. When Imber still hadn't shown up that evening he had a hard time with his meditation. The last straw came at noon the next day, when Snape finally admitted to himself he was worried. He went back to his rooms to see if Imber had come back, but the dish of bird food was still full and nothing had been disturbed.

"Good afternoon, Severus. May I ask what has driven you from your work this fine Tuesday?" Albus Dumbledore was filling out paperwork at his desk when Severus arrived.

"Has Imber come up here recently? I haven't seen him since Sunday and his dish hasn't been disturbed." Snape didn't sit down, since he didn't want to be dragged into a long conversation. "I wondered if he had come up to see Fawkes." The nearly-adult-again phoenix shrugged and shook his head.

"I haven't seen him either. Perhaps he went flying and caught a good tail wind or sensed a storm in the distance. Since Imber was so exhausted the first time he called up a storm, it stands to reason that if he went storm chasing he could have stopped for a nap." Albus was interrupted by a squawk from Fawkes, who immediately flew out of the open window. "Or he could have had a burning day in the storm and need someone with working wings to carry his tiny body back to the castle. I doubt that is the case, but Fawkes is making sure."

"I'll take a walk around the grounds, in case he nearly got home." Snape couldn't fight the wave of worry, and the mental image of a baby bird falling a thousand feet out of the sky didn't help his nerves.

"Don't worry, Severus. Phoenixes are very resilient creatures."

Harry woke up late Wednesday morning. He guessed it was around ten, which was nice. He had fallen asleep on the old bed Sunday night exhausted from the hours of training he forced himself through. He cast spells, did push-ups, wrote essays, ran around, and did a great deal of cleaning. On Monday he flew over to the kitchens and ate a large bowl of fresh strawberries with cream. This gave his human body an incredible sugar rush, and he continued his endurance test, this time concentrating the physical work on his upper body. Tuesday was much the same as the previous two days, except this time he had granola and strawberries in the morning and worked his lower body.

He was quite ready to spend a few days sitting still on Snape's shoulder, but when he was exercising he felt great. He hadn't been doing much moving around, and he usually did a great deal of manual labor during the summer due to all the chores the Dursleys piled on him. His legs were stiff, but birds didn't need their legs for much. He transformed and flew out of a broken window toward the castle.

He spun around in the air a little while before spotting Snape waving at him from the ground. Snape never left the laboratory on weekdays, unless he needed a trip to the loo. Imber dove down to land on the man's outstretched arm.

"Silly bird, where have you been? I've been looking all over for you for two days." Imber was stunned at Snape's words. "What if you got hurt and had a burning day? How would you get back without any feathers? Honestly, you seem so intelligent and than you do something so atrociously foolish." Imber was being held upside-down as Snape examined every inch of him for injury. It was odd, but so very much like his professor to be spewing out insults while making sure he was alright. "No thought at all to the dangers of the forbidden forest, muggle hunters, or thunderstorms. Do you remember that thunderstorm? You were sick when it was over and I had to stay and wait for you to get better." Snape tucked Imber under his arm and started marching back to the castle, never letting up the steady flow of insults and complaints.

"_Home sweet home."_ Imber crooned, making sure that if Fawkes was around he would hear it. Perhaps he could be 'rescued.'

"Professor Snape, how 'ave ye been?" Hagrid's voice interrupted Snape's monologue.

"Fine." Snape snapped off.

"I see ya found 'im alrigh. Could I take a look at 'im? Sometimes animals go off for a reason." Hagrid held out his hands and Snape plopped Imber down in the half-giant's hands. He was lifted gently, and a thick finger poked at him a little. Imber reared back and flapped, giving the delighted gamekeeper a good show. "I think I know what set 'im off. See how glossy 'is feathers are, not all of tha's natural. I don' mean ter be rude, but it's the same as yer hair. All the potion fumes are weighin' down his feathers. Makes it hard fer him to get any lift. He's been airing 'imself out, I'd say. Poor bird needed some sun. Isn't that righ' you lovely little one?" Imber chirped loudly and flapped vigorously, signaling his agreement.

"Perhaps a few small changes in my routine are in order." Snape conceded, holding out his arm for Imber, who immediately jumped onto it. "Sundays are always good for such things after all."

EDIT: Again, the descriptions of Snape have been altered slightly to make him seem less aristocratic and more like your average stuck up conservative. Word choice again, and lots of capitolization errors.


	5. The End of Summer

5: **The End of Summer**

A few things changed in the lives of Imber and Snape over the next week and a half. On Sunday and Wednesday the pair went out to the lake. Imber flew around, diving and tumbling to burn off excess energy. Snape sat on the shore of the lake with a small stack of books or paperwork, or walked around the lake. Sunday mornings didn't change, so Harry could still wake up early and do homework while Snape slept in. He could also slip away for an hour or so of practical training at the shrieking shack. His homework was all but done, and of much higher quality than his previous years.

The letters to Adrian Palsy got longer since Snape had more time to work on them, and Imber decided that reading the longer letters wouldn't be good for him. He had started having very odd thoughts about the night he met Adrian, and it bothered him. Memories of young men snogging in corners shouldn't have the effect on him that they did. He had dated a girl last year, and even kissed her. It hadn't been a very good kiss, and the date was a disaster, but it was his first try. Imber forced those thoughts out of his head before he could examine them any deeper, they had bigger problems.

The problems came on the ninth of August. It was a rainy Friday evening when Dumbledore came down to the laboratory to deliver the news. The dementors surrounding Azkaban prison had left. No one knew where they went, but there weren't enough aurors to guard the prison and investigate possible Death Eater activity. The very next night the prison was attacked. Lord Voldemort brought his only two remaining known servants, Bellatrix LeStrange and Peter Pettigrew, with him when he stormed Azkaban. Twenty dementors followed as a second wave, and the ten aurors fled their posts in fear of their lives.

Snape was twice as waspish after hearing the news, and immediately started brewing all kinds of healing potions and restorative draughts. Since the venomous comments were rarely directed at him, Imber could see that the spy was nervous. A shaky hand would come up to pat Imber on the head at odd times, and Snape added a dash of scotch to his coffee in the morning on Sunday.

Fawkes came down early on Monday and gave Imber his first singing lesson. The mixture of Fawkes' calming song and Imber's empowering one seemed to help Snape concentrate again. Imber wondered what Snape did before to keep his cool front. The singing lessons became a regular occurrence on Monday and Thursday mornings, and the Headmaster would occasionally come down to listen to the pair of phoenixes as well.

They were all waiting for the call to come, and Snape would rush off to the Death Eater meeting. Snape went over what information he was allowed to give to them at least a hundred times, to make sure it came immediately to mind.

"I've not been to any Order meetings since the incident in the ministry. Dumbledore did not think he would need my input, since the next move was obvious to him. The Potter boy is not at his home or the safe house he used last summer. He left suddenly, but I do not know why. I am not trusted . . ." Imber listened to Snape ramble on as they made simple nutrition potions.

Early on the nineteenth the call came. Snape dropped the vial in his hand and grabbed his left forearm in pain, rushing over to a locked cupboard. A chime sounded as Snape opened the doors and pulled out his Death Eater uniform. Imber flew close behind him as the man raced out of the castle to the edge of the wards. He wrapped Snape in a makeshift hug right before the man apparated, hoping his tail made it with him.

They appeared in the middle of a dark forest. A dilapidated house stood in front of them with other robed figures entering the open main doors. Imber did a quick limb check, and once he was sure everything was where it belonged he flew up to a shattered window and did his best to blend into the shadows. When all the Death Eaters took their places and bowed to kiss the hem of the Dark Lord's robes, Voldemort started his speech.

"My loyal servants, we have achieved a great victory. We have taken Azkaban prison for the second time and I brought the Dementors to our side. However, we should not have needed to stage this move so early. That you could not handle a bunch of half-trained children is an embarrassment I will not tolerate. Crucio!" Imber twitched on his perch as the madman tortured each of the Death Eaters who participated in the Department of Mysteries attack. When he was done the Death Eaters bowed again.

"Snape, you have been very quiet lately. Do you have nothing to report?"

"I have not been to a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix since Potter disappeared, Master. It appears that I have been put under suspicion for allowing not only Potter, but five other students to leave the school grounds." Snape spoke without getting up from his position on the floor.

"How much suspicion does the old man hold over you?"

"I have been restricted to my potions work and duties as Head of Slytherin house. He tells me things in person after the fact. It is a light punishment, Master, and I am sure that proper behavior will ease Dumbledore's fears. I have gotten a great deal of research done, but I have been off the castle grounds only once since the last meeting."

"What did you tell him and why did you leave?"

"The house elves were fumigating, Master. The entire castle was uninhabitable. I only learned of it an hour before they started, when the Headmaster came down to tell me. All the castle residents packed up and left for the day as well. Imber and I . . ."

"Who is Imber?" Voldemort whipped around to face Snape. "You have never mentioned that name before, why wasn't I informed of an addition to the staff?"

"Imber is my pet bird, Master. I found him early this past July. He is intelligent enough to help me with my potions work, carrying vials and such small tasks."

"You spent the day with your pet bird?" The serpentine man sounded dumbfounded, and the group of Death Eaters muttered various comments about how pathetic Snape was.

"I didn't have anything else to do, Master. You had not called on me and there isn't much to do for the school during the summer." Voldemort walked away disgusted and started grilling other Death Eaters. He worked his way around the circle, before calling a few of them into a side room for a special project. Those left behind started working out the details of their assignments together.

"Honestly Severus, you need to get a life." Lucius Malfoy confronted Snape.

"What's your problem, Lucius? Time for your yearly shag and Narcissa won't put out?"

"You are one to talk. When was the last time someone allowed you to touch them, Severus, 1977?"

"It was the fourteenth of last month, not that it is any of your business."

"Why didn't you tell our master about her? Oh, excuse me. I mean **him**."

"It was during the fumigation. I met him in a bar. Enough about my conquests and your total lack thereof, what do you need?"

"Here, I wrote it down. I also need to know if you can mask the smell of those last three, I intend to use them on ministry officials."

"Aren't you a wanted man? I doubt it would be easy for you to walk around undetected during business hours."

"What, do you want to try it? They would call Dumbledore wondering how you slipped your leash! I have a few people in my pocket that can take care of it."

"It will take me two weeks to do all of these, are they written out in any particular order?" Imber noticed the Death Eaters that Voldemort had taken aside were coming out of the separate meeting.

"You have eight days, and I need the last three as soon as possible."

"The sugamiable potion takes ten days to cure. I can have most of them to you in four days, but it will take longer for the more complex potions. Some of them can't be rushed, it spoils them." Lucius backhanded Snape across the mouth.

"Don't talk back to me you worthless little queer!"

"What is going on here?" Voldemort roared.

"Master, this worthless worm has refused his assignment." Malfoy bowed low as he spoke, but Snape was quick to get his point in.

"I can brew most of these potions and send them to Lucius in four days. However, it takes ten days or longer to brew some of these potions, due to moon phases and curing time. Lucius demanded I do all of them in eight days." Imber could tell Snape was scared by how fast he was talking. Before he could stop himself he let out a reassuring thrill, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

"Aha! That old man's greatest strength is that glorified ball of feathers he tosses out to catch deadly spells, but he will have the edge no longer. Come down, regal bird, and join your new master." Imber just looked at Voldemort like he was crazy, which he was, but that wasn't the point.

"Come down, Imber." Snape called, and Imber flew over to the bowing man's shoulder. There were a few gasps as Snape stood up with his Storm Phoenix perched proudly on his shoulder.

"This is your new pet, Severus? This is good fortune indeed. Come here and let me look at him." Voldemort seemed quite pleased, but Imber had no intention of getting any closer to the red-eyed man. Snape reluctantly stepped forward. "Perhaps you would like a more powerful master."

Imber shrieked when Voldemort reached out to grab him and hopped over to Snape's other shoulder. Voldemort reached for him again, and Imber hopped back. Nagini started laughing quietly from her place in the corner.

"Master, Imber doesn't like being handled too much. If you just hold out your arm, he might go to you." Snape suggested. The Dark Lord stopped grabbing at Imber and held out his arm, but Imber just turned around.

"A dark and regal bird deserves a worthy master. Come to me, and you will have everything you want." Imber looked over his shoulder, chirped once, stuck out his tongue and buzzed. The Dark Lord dropped his arm and grabbed his wand. Imber fanned out his large tail and stuck it up in the air, smacking the wand away and insulting the snake-faced man in one gesture.

"_You should not treat my Master in such a way."_ Nagini slithered over. _"I might make you a snack."_

"_Your master is trying to replace you with me, and you are angry at me. So much for Snakes being intelligent animals."_ Imber retorted, not sure if Nagini would understand it.

"_You speak? You are a bird; you should not be able to speak."_

"_What do you call chirping, an involuntary spasm?"_ Imber deadpanned. _"I will protect Snape, and Snape will protect me. I shall stay with him and eat pancakes on Sundays. Tell your Master his offer isn't going to be accepted."_ Nagini repeated the statement to her master.

"It appears Imber and Nagini can talk to one another, though I can only understand one of them." Voldemort smiled, stretching his deformed face into a terrifying shape. "Should the old man ever figure out you are a spy, you will have this lovely bird to help you duel your way out of the castle. This will work out wonderfully." The madman walked over to the center of the room. "Leave Snape alone Lucius, you don't want to get Imber angry at you."

"You were at my summer house, weren't you bird?" Lucius leered. "My wife told me a storm phoenix came to tea and sat on her lap. She was delighted, and would love to see you again. My son's rudeness can be taken care of."

"I don't think Imber wants to go anywhere. If this is all you need me to do, I should get home to start brewing these." Imber nodded agreement. Malfoy suddenly grabbed Imber.

"Just a short trip, I'm sure you'll like it when you get there." The man roughly held Imber under the wings, keeping the sharp talons away from vulnerable parts of his body. Imber started singing at the top of his lungs. "That's it, you remember my wife Narcissa, don't you? You can be our family pet, with the best food and a big silver cage."

"Lucius, don't talk about cages. If you know what's good for you, you will let go of him right now and apologize for suggesting he be put in a cage." Snape had his wand out, and started casting electrical shielding spells on himself. Thunder rolled in the distance.

"_That is the stupidest thing I have ever seen. Hissss I don't like thunder!" _Nagini slithered under Voldemort's chair.

"I'm not talking about some dinky little thing you could manage. It would be a great silver home out in the garden, as big as a small house. You can have the best food, and Narcissa would come out to visit you all the time." A brilliant flash tossed the Malfoy across the room, knocking over seven Death Eaters in the process. A decent sized hole poured rain into the room, the edges still smoldering from the heat of the lightning.

"Lucius! I told you to leave Snape alone!" When Imber and Snape left the meeting, Malfoy was bound and gagged hanging from the ceiling. Voldemort had decided to personally appease Imber by making an example of the dumb blond.

Snape related the meeting to Albus, skimming over the nasty bits verbally, but handing in a report with every detail. The old Headmaster chuckled when he heard about Imber's fondness for pancakes, and Fawkes became jealous and offended. It seemed that Albus' tastes didn't match Fawkes' preferences at all.

After the short meeting Imber and Snape went right back to their routine. Snape brought some of the ingredients outside on Wednesday, preparing them for later use. Thursday saw another letter from Adrian, this one made Snape blush slightly. They planned on meeting Sunday at "Bent Wands" for dinner and a surprise. Imber wasn't sure if he wanted to know what the surprise was, but thought he would pay closer attention to any conversation about where gay wizards hung out.

_I like girls. Cho was a girl. It doesn't matter if she was athletic and not into frilly girly things, she was female. I just don't like prejudice, and it is good to keep an open mind. In case I find out one of my friends is gay or bisexual._ Imber thought to himself. _I liked looking at veelas!_

On Friday Snape sent out the first set of completed potions to Lucius Malfoy, and his lesson plans to the Headmaster. When Imber dropped off the thick packet he realized there was little more than a week left until September first. He still had the time turner, but he could only go back a few days at a time. He knew through Hermione that repeated use drained a wizard's magic, making them tired and a little weaker than average. He couldn't chance Voldemort attacking while he was under the magic's influence.

Dumbledore told Snape that Harry had reappeared on Saturday, and the two rushed off to an Order meeting. Imber and Fawkes stayed behind at Fawkes' insistence. He had just started to show Imber how to teleport, which was much different than wizard Apparation, and refused to be interrupted. It didn't take long for Imber to master short-distance teleportation, though when they tried for London, Imber only made it to Hogsmeade.

"_You just need to visit the places you want to go a little more. If you fly around London and take in the details of the place, you should be able to get there without a problem."_ Fawkes explained. Imber thanked Fawkes for the lesson and flew down to Snape's chambers for some food.

Snape burst into the room in a terrible mood. The man seemed shell shocked, but hadn't looked at Imber. He figured that meant 'Harry' had not spilled the beans about his whereabouts. Imber started singing softly and Snape snatched him off his perch. The flustered man started stroking Imber's feathers as if they were the last solid anchor holding him to his sanity.

"Imber, you are too young, I hope, to have ever met one, but take my word on it. Angry werewolves are the most terrifying things in the world, full moon or no." Snape dropped down into his black leather chair. "I deserve it, Imber. I did something horrible, but I wasn't aware of it at the time. I think I broke something unfixable, and put out the last bright light this world had left. I just hope the damage can be repaired."

There was a long silence. Snape's atypical behavior and need for comfort was alien to Imber, and the man seemed content with keeping his thoughts inside. The silence was broken by the Headmaster's head popping into the fireplace.

"Severus, are you alright?" The twinkle was gone from the Headmaster's eyes.

"I'm the one who caused damage, not the one who was damaged."

"I can't agree completely, Severus. Do you mind if I step through?"

"Suit yourself." Snape spoke as he rearranged Imber in his lap. Imber decided it was best to play stuffed animal and keep his pointy beak buttoned.

"I'm almost afraid to ask about what Harry said at the meeting, but I must do so. Was his portrayal of your teaching methods accurate?"

"There was no specific statement that I could point out as a lie."

"Did you see things in his mind during Occlumency lessons that hinted at child abuse?"

"He was starved, psychologically tortured, and treated as a House Elf." Snape's rich voice fell flat on the dark statement. Then he stared off into the middle distance, speaking philosophically. "I refused to see it, rationalizing the memories away one at a time. I never put them together or acknowledged a pattern. I imagined they were dreams, nightmares of isolated occurrences and no more. It wasn't until the mask fell today that I accepted it. He was always so light and happy, a shining beacon no matter what."

"It is one of Harry's great strengths and weaknesses. He draws people in as moths to a flame, but he can't handle their hovering. One or two moths will burn in a flame; ten thousand will snuff out the light. He changes those who come near him, warming them in his way, but he can also destroy. Harry has matured from a candle in a dark room, to a roaring fire capable of destruction or comfort." Dumbledore spoke quietly after conjuring a tea set. Neither man seemed to be talking to the other, just speaking what came to mind.

"I always thought he merely reflected the spotlight cast on him, but it was his own light shining. He wasn't a spoiled brat. He just stole whatever happiness he could and used it to keep that light held high, and didn't let anything stand in his way."

"I knew he was unhappy there, but I still have no clear perception of exactly what happened. I wish he would speak to me about it, but we can only move forward now. Harry is not damaged, he has matured. He simply will not accept the abuse any longer."

"He will not trust either of us, not completely. I never thought it would be a problem. Why should he have to rely on me? That is exactly what happened; however, and Black is dead because of it. He was forced to rely on me and did not trust me enough to deal with the problem. Not that I care that the mutt is dead, but it puts Potter in greater danger." Snape sighed, and Imber had the impression that working for the Order kept Snape sane. _He lives his work, it's the only thing he has. Snape is glued together by pride and determination. The only things that truly upset him are the things that make him feel less useful in his jobs. _

"Not anymore. Harry isn't the same person he was last term. I would suggest avoiding Minerva like the plague for the next few weeks." Dumbledore finished off his tea. The 'Snape support Session' was drawling to a close, and the irritable potions master was coming back to himself. "So, you made a few bad judgments. It has happened to us all. Survive as you have these past years, one day at a time."

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow . . ." Snape murmured.

"The stage is not yet set for the final act, and all the players are ready. If all the world's a stage and we are but players, then I fear the pens and scripts have been turned over to Harry and the Dark Lord for the time being." The headmaster stood and walked over to the fire. "I know you would never come to anyone for emotional support, but I will make the offer anyway. Should you need me, I am willing to listen."

Albus left, and Snape brought Imber into the bedroom with him. He was placed on the right side of the headboard, atop one of the posts that held up the thick green and black canopy. Before long, the sun was rising and Snape had had very little sleep.

After Harry put a final polish on his homework and participated in the typical Sunday morning activities, Snape put on one of his nicest sets of casual robes. The greasy hair wasn't fixed, nor was anything done to get rid of the faint scent of brimstone. At five o'clock the tall man left the castle. Imber teleported down out of the sky when they reached the edge of the wards, startling Snape with the flash of electricity and flame.

Imber immediately perched on Snape's shoulder when they appeared in Diagon Alley. Before long they were standing in a corner of 'Bent Wands' waiting for Adrian Palsy to show up. The shorter blond man appeared thirty-five minutes after five, dressed in lilac and navy blue. Imber could feel Snape thinking about how flashy the robes were. At least they were well tailored, but he looked like Lockhart picked out his wardrobe.

"Severus, it is nice to see you again." Adrian smiled brightly, reaching out in an ambiguous way. It could either be a hug or a handshake, and Snape opted for the handshake. Adrian stole a quick kiss on the cheek, and the pair walked out the door.

Imber knew Snape wasn't in a good mood. The events of last night were still replaying in the man's mind. Adrian might enjoy Snape's waspish comments when they are directed at the ministry, but that morning Snape spent five minutes yelling at his under shorts for getting caught in the drawer. Adrian chattered on about an old family home he had worked on yesterday, but Snape was only giving snappy one-syllable responses.

"What is with you today, Severus? You were so animated before, and your letters read like poetry." Adrian reached up and brushed his hand across Snape's cheek. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I failed in one of my most important tasks, and didn't realize it until yesterday."

"You haven't lost your job have you?" Adrian pulled Snape into one of the many shady corners Knockturn Alley was famous for.

"No, but it is highly disturbing that I made such a large error in judgment." Snape wasn't concentrating on his surroundings, losing himself in the memory. "I am directly responsible for the care and safety of roughly seventy children in my house, and indirectly responsible for nearly three hundred. If I could miss something this large . . ."

"What was it exactly?" Adrian slipped his arms around Snape, pulling the tall man close. Snape came back to himself instantly, and put a respectable distance between them.

"It is not important. I did manage to publish a small article in Potions Weekly about my research this summer. I won't have any time for it once school starts, and I am already busy brewing for the Hospital wing." Snape started walking again.

"I think it is important; however, if you'd rather be distracted I know a cozier little café than the one we're headed to. 'Torn Costumes' is just off Knockturn, in Crease Drive."

"Isn't that a residential street?" Imber could see the gears turning.

"Well, more like a red-lamp district really. The café has entertainment available and rooms in the back. I'm sure you could use it. It has been a while for you, and . . ." If looks could kill, Adrian would have fallen over dead.

"Mr. Palsy, to what are you referring?"

"Well, you don't get much action with all the research, do you? I know the extra work I've been doing since You-Know-Who's return has cut deeply into my social life, and your workload has been time consuming for much longer. With what Hayworth said, I thought it would be an excellent opportunity. A quick shag will do us both some good."

"I thought we were going to dinner, and you planned a surprise afterward." The flirtatious Adrian was starting to get a little pushy. It took a while for Snape to get used to Imber hanging around, and he was just a bird that stayed out of the way.

"I did. I have reservations for us at 'Torn Costumes' at ten, but I'm sure they could move it up." Adrian was hit with another burning glare. "I suppose you aren't one for casual flings, then. Right, you expected another boring dinner talking about magical theory and politics."

"I happen to enjoy 'boring dinners' as you put it. I do not make a habit of sleeping around, and made it quite clear the first time we met that Hayworth and I are not on speaking terms. Whatever asinine ideas might be floating around your head, I am not in need of a quick shag or distraction."

"Well, I don't have the time or desire for anything more serious. A little light fun won't kill you, but if you aren't interested I'll just be on my way." The two turned and walked off in opposite directions, Snape to 'Bent Wands' and Adrian to 'Torn Costumes.' Imber realized that the situation was similar, in a general way, to his date with Cho. She had expected Harry to move faster and spend the whole date making out, while Harry just wanted to hang out.

In fact, he hadn't wanted to do much of anything to Cho. He was uncomfortable almost the whole time, and looking at the other couples just made him even more uncomfortable. As Snape ordered dinner and ate quietly, Imber looked around at the other men. Now that he got over the shock, two men snogging almost looked appealing.

_Perhaps it isn't disturbing, just different. Some people like it and some people don't, and maybe I'm one of the ones who like it._ Imber thought as the huge bartender told two deeply entwined wizards to go find a room somewhere.

"I don't have time for such frivolity." Snape murmured to Imber, picking through his moneybag to pay the bill. "It is for the best that I remain focused."

Snape didn't seem overly upset, and things were quite calm over the next week. On Friday Harry cleaned all his things out of the Shrieking Shack and Library. He knew he had to go back, though he had to admit Snape was nice to live with. First thing Saturday morning Imber started pecking on the window. As soon as he was out he started flying south. Fawkes came up beside him.

"_I have to go, Fawkes."_ Imber said, angling for the clouds.

"_It isn't even autumn yet! You can barely teleport, and you wear yourself out with even the slightest use of your power."_ The angry squawk reminded Imber of a worried parent.

"_I have to go. It's just my time to leave."_ Imber reached out with his senses, feeling for London the way Fawkes instructed.

"_You don't understand: he won't understand this. If you leave this early the Dark Knight will not realize this is normal."_

"_I have to go now. I just have to, alright. Snape gave me a good home; I'll probably be back late June."_

"_This is not good. Did you at least say goodbye?"_

"_I stole some of his blueberries, he doesn't laugh but I know he thinks it's funny. He knows I can't deal with cold well, so he freezes them. I bring the bag over to the fireplace and cook them then pick them out of the bag. He says it looks silly, but I like berries so much I don't care. He'll know I'm not gone for good. He reads all kinds of books, I'm sure he'll find out I'm migratory."_

"_Then help me pick out a book."_

"_Fawkes, I have to go now. You're stronger than I am."_

"_I . . ."_ Fawkes dropped back for a few moments, and then rushed up fast. _"Imber I don't know how to read. I've tried, but the symbols don't make sense to me. I don't know how you do it."_

"_Fawkes, it is time for me to go. Maybe it's a hard winter coming, maybe something big is coming, or maybe I just need to get down to Brazil. Please let me go."_

"_Alright, but I still don't think it's a good idea."_ Fawkes turned around and headed back to Hogwarts.

Imber landed in a small park reasonably close to Diagon Alley. He darted behind some bushes and quickly changed back into Harry. Armed with fifty pounds, he walked into an accessory shop looking for something to conceal his scar. He came out with a black bandanna and a jar of concealer. After slipping into a public washroom, he carefully put on the muggle make-up and hit it with a low-grade protective spell. The charm would prevent the make-up from being rubbed off until the counter-spell was performed. He topped it off by covering his wild, feathery hair with the bandanna. The thin fabric was translucent, so it would be hard to spot from a distance. Finally, he changed the color of his glasses. The thick frames became deep green, making them less recognizable.

The Boy Who Lived was mostly recognized by his scar and short messy hair. He hadn't been home long enough for his Aunt to cut his hair, and with the weight of the bandanna it almost laid flat against his head. He couldn't chance glamour charms; there was too great a chance someone would notice. He found a dark alley and crouched behind the dust bin. He knew he would be found in late afternoon one week ago and give the Order of the Phoenix a piece of his mind. With one last deep breath, Harry pulled out the time-turner and twisted the knob.

EDIT: I've never been happy with the scene at the Death Eater meeting. I added some description and changed Nagini's lines - mostly just removing the last one and replacing it with description. I tweaked the diction in the date a bit.


	6. Shopping with Fate

**6: Shopping with Fate**

Harry slipped easily through the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley. He had some serious shopping to do, and the pseudo-disguise he wore kept other people from bothering too much about him. First stop was Gringotts bank for some funds. The large white pillared building was swarming with people going about their business. He waited in line for a full half hour before making it to one of the mine carts.

"Your name is Griphook right?" The goblin jumped and turned around.

"Yes it is, Sir, though I must say it is strange for a wizard to remember such things."

"You were the goblin that helped me the first time I was here. In fact I don't think I've ever been helped by anyone else. I was wondering why that was."

"I . . . that is . . . Sir, I'm not sure I know what you mean." He stammered in a grumpy voice as they climbed into the mine cart.

"I was really just wondering why you are the only goblin I ever do business with." Harry paused as they rocketed forward. "I have some questions about the size of my account."

"What sort of questions, Sir?"

"Well, I noticed in the past that the amount of money in the account never seemed to diminish, though I haven't seen my vault in nearly two years so I could be wrong."

"Your vault is a trust fund for use during your childhood years. It receives an allowance quarterly from the Potter family vault."

"Wait . . . That hill of gold isn't all of it? How much more is there?" How he heard Harry over the roar of the wind was a mystery since Harry was talking to himself, but Griphook answered quickly.

"The Potters have been quite wealthy for centuries, Mr. Potter. In recent generations they became more discrete about it, so many think the old money ran out."

"How much do you know about that? I hardly ever hear anything about my extended family, so I appreciate anything you can tell me."

"Your Great-Great-Grandfather, who would be well over two centuries old if he were still alive, noticed that some families were falling on hard times early on in his life. Old money was drying up all over due to the opulence of the time. Young witches and wizards weren't getting solid work, just living off of the inheritance and whatever fancy took them in. The lack of working wizards drove up prices. Then the stock market started shaking the foundations of many accounts in the early 1800's. It was quite the mess, so he decided he wouldn't flaunt his wealth. He wore his robes until they were nearly rags, bought just what he needed and no more, and redefined the family image." The Goblin gave an approving nod.

"Since then every child in your family has been given a trust fund at birth that receives an allowance. The allowance is determined by a large Arithmancy calculation of schooling expenses, inflation, and living expenses resulting in what you should be able to get by on. Since your parents are no longer living it is a slightly higher amount, as a kind of child support. For whatever reason, your guardians never came to pick up the money, so it just stayed there collecting interest according to contract. That small fortune is roughly the cost of keeping a child in an upper-middle class home." Harry spent the rest of the trip to his vault in silence, absorbing this information.

"I should have been living a comfortable middle-class life as a sort of training, so I'm not a spoiled brat who refuses to give up luxuries during hard times. It's a good system." Harry scooped up roughly eight hundred Galleons. "Griphook, is it possible for you to tell me or let me see what is in the other vault? I have found out a great number of things have been kept from me recently." Harry stepped into the mine cart, mumbling to himself. "The Headmaster just keeps losing my respect, doesn't he?"

"You are quite welcome to visit the Potter family vault, though you are not permitted to remove any money from it until your seventeenth birthday. There are other things in the vault that you are welcome to examine or take."

"O-other things?" Harry hiccupped as the mine cart zipped forward again, taking his breath away.

"Yes Sir, many wizarding families keep some valuable objects in their vaults. In your case this is a bit of an understatement. The ancestral home was gutted when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named took an interest in your family. That is why they were at Godric's Hollow."

"That's two, Headmaster. What is the difference between Godric's Hollow and my ancestral home?"

"I . . . Well it is your property we are talking about, Sir, so I am happy to answer your questions. However I must wonder what you mean by _that's two_."

"I found out the Headmaster was keeping many important things from me recently, and asked him to come clean. Thinking back, he has very rarely had to lie outright, but the half-truths and non answers are just as bad. I'm merely keeping count of the deceptions he did not bother to clear up."

"You do not trust him in your personal affairs?"

"I most certainly do not! He would have me totally dependent on him for everything. I have a deep seated hatred for people who manipulate others. It's a matter of principle. No matter how well done it is, manipulation always causes damage somehow."

"I understand. Godric's Hollow is a small cottage originally meant for holidays or retirement. Would you like to add number three in the same stroke?"

"Tell me."

"Mr. Albus Dumbledore has asked to be informed whenever you withdrawal more than one thousand Galleons at a time, withdrawal during the school year, have someone else withdrawal for you, or open a second account. That is why I am always your escort."

"Lovely, he watches me all year at school, keeps spies in the bushes around my house, and has my bank records monitored. I can't wait until he starts tutoring me in Occlumency so he can rummage through my brain at regular intervals!" The car came to a stop in one of the deepest chambers. Harry could hear dragons roaring in the distance and took note of scorch marks on some of the walls.

"Surely you are exaggerating, Mr. Potter!" Harry narrowed his eyes at the goblin.

"I don't tell stories lightly, Griphook. It is yet another matter of principle that the public doesn't know much about." The goblin seemed upset with himself, but it was hard to determine the exact expression on the squashed face.

"It is rare for me to be spoken to with such respect and familiarity. Most wizards care little about those who handle their money, beyond knowing that it is well guarded. You on the other hand, you treat other peoples with such respect, even house elves, and others often treat you poorly. I myself commented to the Daily Prophet that you hid the contents of your vault from view as much as possible when accompanied by those who were not so well off. Forgive me my judgments, I know that a person such as you must be far too noble for such petty motives as I implied." Griphook's tone was businesslike and apologetic, but not groveling like Dobby and Winky would have been.

"You didn't know me then as well as you do now. Don't get me wrong though, I'm no saint. I've done my fair share of mischief. I'm sure you didn't have vicious motives when you spoke to the paper."

"You are a kind young man to say so; quite decent I'd say just for remembering my name." Griphook moved to the large black vault doors and ran a finger up the seam between them. "I'll need you to touch the doors here in the center and speak your name and lineage aloud in the proper ceremonial form to open the doors completely."

"Lineage?"

"You would say 'I am Harry James Potter, son of James Potter and Lilly Evans' if I am not mistaken." Harry repeated the phrase and the large doors opened to a room roughly half the size of the Great Hall. There were two small mountains of cash peaking in the two far corners, one gold and one sliver. Knuts were piled between them. The rest of the floor was covered with the contents of the manor home Griphook mentioned. Books, housed in rows of ancient book cases, were on the left. Furniture, all of it covered in drop cloths, was packed tightly in an oversized shelving system to the right. Rugs and tapestries were mostly rolled up, but a few were hanging off the furniture shelving system. The shelves themselves looked like they belonged in a warehouse or factory, most likely crafted specifically for this purpose. In the center various weapons were neatly packed away in glass cases, but what caught Harry's eye was an empty sheath with the Gryffindor crest on it. Given the shape and size, he was sure the shiny silver and gold sheath belonged to the sword he pulled out of the sorting hat in second year.

"You receive a small interest each year based on the value of the items housed here, only .015% of their value, but considering the high price most of these objects were appraised at, it does add up over the years." Griphook offered.

"That's good to know. Do you have any idea if this sheath belongs to the sword of Gryffindor?"

"I should say it would Sir, though I am no expert in the area. You are the sole heir to Godric Gryffindor's title: Lord Gryffindor. Was this too kept from you?"

"Indeed, I wonder if that should count as four or five . . . Does that title carry any weight or is it just a vanity thing?"

"It most certainly does! It means you own a number of properties, have partnerships in some companies, and will have certain duties and responsibilities once you reach majority."

"None of which I would be prepared for, so I would have to turn to others to help me manage it all next year." Harry's thoughts were drawn back to the time turner and how useful it would be when he needed study time. "Dumbledore would be the obvious choice of course. I think I understand his reasoning, since I will have quite a lot on my plate these coming years, but I'm sure you agree with my opinion of his methods."

"Goblins are known for using every loophole we can find at will, but such blatant manipulation and disregard for signed agreements is distasteful even by our standards. He was instructed to inform you of your duties before your fifteenth birthday so long as you were mentally capable of handling the information."

"According to him I was not, since I was then and am now a child faced with a nearly impossible task. He means well. I have no doubt that everything he does is for the greater good, one way or another. Nevertheless, I'll need a list of all my holdings and responsibilities owled to me. It isn't a great priority at the moment, so whenever you get to it in the next month or so is acceptable. I'll have to put some effort into learning how to handle it all. I want to keep some control when I inherit all this next year."

"I'll be sure to get it to you, for a small fee of course."

"Understandable; I'll take this dagger." Harry held up a small, but very nasty looking serrated blade roughly fifteen centimeters from handle to tip. The tip was shaped like a fishhook, pointing back toward the handle dangerously. It had a black dragonhide holster next to it, old and well-used enough that the thick leather was soft. "Next time Voldemort or his Death Eaters get my wand from me I want to have a trick up my sleeve, literally."

"That is a fine enchanted blade. According to the inventory it causes…" Griphook began.

"Don't tell me, I want to figure them out myself."

"As you wish, so may I suggest you also take these books?" Griphook pointed to a small stack next to the weapons. "One is a catalog, but the others are merely reference books. If you get stuck or wish to check your final answer the catalog will be useful. Also, taking items out of this vault is not precisely a withdrawal, so Mr. Dumbledore need not be informed if you were to make a request during the school year to get a different dagger or sword, should the need arise or you decide that one is ill suited to your needs."

"I like your style, Griphook: An honest man following his contracts to the letter. I could learn a thing or two from that." Harry packed the books, dagger and sheath into a sturdy canvas bag Griphook found in the back, and left the bank. It was now roughly ten in the morning and he hadn't had breakfast. Thanking whoever charmed the small bag to be feather-light and impossibly deep, he selected a small café between an apothecary and the bank to have brunch. It didn't take him long to pack away the bangers and mash, though he took his time with the boiling hot tea. He hoped his phoenix appetite didn't stick around; he'd start resembling his cousin if this kept up!

Harry's first stop was the apothecary. He wanted to have extra potion supplies so he could practice even if he didn't get into the class. Thankfully he was in and out without any problems. Now for the fun stuff: a new wardrobe, glasses, and other small luxuries he'd never been allowed.

He strode into 'The Well Dressed Wizard' intent on getting rid of the rags the Dursleys forced on him. He was fully aware that this store wasn't the sort of place Mrs. Weasley would approve of, but if he was going to be honest with himself he didn't care. He was gay, and this store was for gay wizards. All the shady things were carried in the back half of the store anyway. It connected to Knockturn Alley through a small, shadowed door in the back, under the name 'Wizard's Out'. The front half of the store sold men's clothing of all kinds and prices. The whole store was decorated in wood. The front was stained a warm honey color, but shifted to a reddish stain near the back. The less socially acceptable displays were covered in a translucent red fabric, but were certainly easy enough to recognize through the red haze when you knew what was there. Harry decided to be good, this time, and stay away from the magazine racks and veiled displays.

"My name is Samuel, do you need any help today, Sir?" A young man in teal robes asked.

"Yes, I'm Tyler. I had an accident recently while traveling, and the clothes in my trunk are no longer wearable. I need four or five sets of robes; at least one of them needs to be durable enough to handle severe punishment and one slightly more formal but not stuffy. Um, I've never put much effort into clothes before so I'll need help with suggestions. The only thing I'm sure of is that I look good in green." Harry recited without missing a beat. The young man's eyes lit up, obviously calculating his commission for such a large sale.

"Right this way, Sir. How about we get those work robes out of the way first? Will you need to worry about potions, spells, or physical tearing?"

"A little bit of it all, I'm afraid. I want to be ready for Auror training when I graduate next year. I expect to do a lot of jumping around and dodging."

"This grey fabric here is rather dull looking, but can handle quite a bit of both magical and physical punishment. It is water resistant, so small potion spills would not be an issue." Harry was quickly measured for his work robes. Samuel spelled the sleeves detachable for use on hot days, and gave them plenty of leg room for ventilation and range of movement.

Harry ended up with three regular robes in light brown, black, and emerald. Each robe had an inner piece, outer piece, and trousers. The inner part was slightly finer fabric closed in the front, with a plain collar laying at the base of his neck, full length sleeves, and slits on the side coming up to the knee. For the outer piece each color was a slightly different cut. All three had fastenings down to the waist, where they flared out to show the color below. Brown was a classic robe design: crisp lines, lower v-neck collar, and black buttons. The black had silver clasps and a generous amount of extra fabric in the back. The extra gave it a flowing quality, which went well with the higher neckline for cool weather. The Emerald robe was a more modern fashion with a high mandarin collar, black trim, and no sleeves. The sleeveless design made up for the range of motion lost in the high collar, and looked smashing over the contrasting inner robes. The soft, smooth fabric made them much more comfortable than his regular wool uniform.

He also picked up four shirts and three pairs of trousers out of the Muggle style section in shades of cream and tan. They were plain, blended into a crowd, and would go well with any of the outer robes in the event he had to travel through Muggle areas to a Wizarding event.

"Great, these are perfect. Now for the formal robes, have you ever seen a picture of a Storm Phoenix?" Harry asked Samuel.

"No Sir, I was never interested in birds or magical creatures. Is it much different than this one?" Samuel pointed to a display over by the wall. A brilliant red and gold phoenix was embroidered across the back and shoulders of a dark reddish-orange robe with gold piping.

"They're not nearly so gaudy. They look like hawks, with black on the top of the wings and back. The underside of the wings and tail feathers start out green then flash silver further down. In fact, the only color you can see is on the tail until they open their wings. I wasn't looking for an image of one though, more of a recreation." Harry pointed to a blue robe with a glossy black lining. "I'd like something more like this one here, but inverted. Like a plain looking classy black robe with silver or white trim and a green lining, does that make sense?" Samuel was already pinning together panes of fabric when Harry turned around.

"This cut doesn't suit your frame; you are much too short. It is an excellent idea though. Get up on the stool and let's see what I can do. Pad the shoulders a bit perhaps . . . No, that looks silly. Get rid of this seam around the middle . . . You need long smooth lines to pull this off . . . Now your bum disappeared, can't lose that can we? This is too much vertical without anything interrupting it for such a thin person . . . Shall we go with a belt over the inner half? Yes, that is much better . . . Just need to tweak the color a bit... Do you want silk or Muggle nylon for the lining?"

"Go for the silk, it catches the light better," Harry nearly giggled.

"Indeed it does, now to stitch it all together . . . This contrasting thread will stand out well without being too much . . . Shall I give it some slack to billow around behind you?"

"It could get clumsy. Wouldn't this be more practical?"

"True, but you won't see the lining as much. We could make this inner robe a very dark shade of green rather than true black like the outer one."

"Give it some slack, but don't let it get too far behind me. I don't want a train. Let's try the dark green, but that isn't a final decision."

"Understood, Tyler, just a few more seams and we'll take a look in the mirrors."

In no time at all Samuel was finished. Harry swirled around a little in front of the mirrors, looking at the new robes. The inner lining of the outer robe was brilliant green silk, and shone like an emerald in the sun. It had a single black clasp at his collar bone, exposing the row of black buttons on the inner robe. The belt was braided leather, black with green accents and leaf-shaped clasp. The inner robe was sleeveless, but the outer had full length sleeves. It flared out a bit, but didn't billow. Harry had feared the brilliant green and glossy white trim would make him feel like a peacock, but it turned out great.

"Samuel, you've got yourself a sale!" He changed into his cream colored Muggle style outfit and tossed the baggy hand me downs he had been wearing. Then he grabbed a few boxers, socks, and undershirts while Samuel wrapped things up. As he was counting out his money Samuel leaned in a little closer.

"Would you be interested in anything else today?" he asked with a wink.

"Excuse me?" Harry blinked a few times. Samuel tipped his head to the side and smiled, edging a little bit into Harry's personal space. This was odd.

"I was just wondering if you might like some of the things in the back, or perhaps something to relax. Maybe you'd like something that isn't displayed for sale." Was Harry imagining things, or did that statement have at least three meanings? He couldn't fight off the blush.

"I'm not sure _exactly_ what you are on about, but I have a good idea. You're a nice guy, Samuel, but I don't have the time to finish figuring you out today."

"It wouldn't take long, Tyler. My lunch break is coming up soon, you see." Thank Merlin he wasn't talking about a business transaction, or was he?

"I . . . would like to pay for my clothes." Harry gave Tyler the galleons he owed him. "I'm not interested in purchasing anything else." There, problem solved. No more horny prostitutes asking for a date.

"I'm sorry, Tyler. I was so sure you were gay, you should know this store is . . ."

"I am. I'm just not interested in _buying_ anything else."

"What? Oh! That did sound bad . . . I'm not selling anything here, just asking you out to lunch. I'll understand if you're not interested though, I wouldn't be after that."

"I honestly don't have the time. Goodbye."

"Have a nice day, Tyler. Be sure to come back sometime."

_Well that was awkward and uncomfortable. _Harry thought, browsing through a gift shop full of knickknacks. _Though, it is only the second time I've ever been asked out by someone I was attracted to. I did get some nice robes though, and discovered something about myself. _Harry smiled as he walked into Flourish and Blots. _I love shopping for clothes. It isn't all that surprising though, after living with Dudley's cast offs all this time. Maybe it loses its appeal after the first time._

Harry didn't doubt for a moment that Mrs. Weasley would have taken care of his school things while he was missing, but he wanted to get a few extra books to study with. He quickly located two books on Occlumency: The Armored Mind and Plugging the Holes in Your Head. The second book covered all the basics and listed many different techniques, but the first also had information on Legilimency and more complex theories. The Arithmancy involved wasn't quite as bad as Snape had implied it was last year, but the section on making a pensive skirted the edge of his understanding. He wondered why he hadn't dropped Divination ages ago, but shook it off. _Ron is a bit of a slacker and he rubs off on me as much as Hermione does. Why would I drop such an easy class for something like Arithmancy when I know I could never get my best friend to back me up?_

Harry also picked up 1,001 Hexes For The Cursed, Advanced Dueling Tactics: How to Beat a Cheat, and One Hundred Potion Mistakes to Never Make. The potions book had a whole chapter dedicated to the properties of basic ingredients. Though painfully boring when compared to the rest of the book, Harry thought this was vital information he severely lacked due to the holes in Professor Snape's curriculum, and vowed to read that chapter twice before school started.

The best part about this shopping trip was the ability to browse around in any store he wanted. He wandered around in a number of specialty shops that he'd never had the time to explore before. He took his time in an optician's office, looking at all the frames and magical options. He wanted to replace his clunky old glasses with a pair that fit better and possibly update his prescription, but wasn't sure if he could trust the optician with his name. There was no way he could get that bit done anonymously.

"My name is Diana, let me guess, you want to replace those old frames but don't have the money? There are some cheaper frames on the other side of the store, and it doesn't cost much to re-transfigure the same glass."

"Money isn't the problem, Ma'am. I haven't had a new pair of glasses since primary school . . . I think I was seven." Harry spoke without thinking.

"Ah, sentimental value is the issue. You can keep the old frames if you like."

"Do you like to gossip, Diana? I know some very useful information . . ." The shopkeeper scowled at him.

"I don't much care for gossip. I listen to customers sometimes, but I don't think it's right to spread around unverified information, and don't think you can get a discount that way."

"Then I would like a pair of glasses. You see, I can't have the rumor mill buzzing before I get back home saying that I've reappeared. The wrong people might hear about it. My name is Harry Potter." Harry banished the protective charm and wiped off the concealer from his scar. "I don't need some gossiping shopkeeper alerting every reporter in Britain of my whereabouts. I do need a new pair of glasses. What do you suggest?"

"Mr. Potter!" Diana gasped. "Come on into the back and I'll begin the examination." An hour later Harry re-applied the make-up to his scar, recast the protective spell when the witch wasn't looking, and left the store with a pair of very thin silver frames. Numerous unbreakable and imperturbable charms were layered onto the glass and steel. The metal frames where not as noticeable as the clunky plastic ones, and the oval lenses fit his face better. It made him look a little older, and accented rather than hid his bright green eyes. The real improvement was a type of magical sight Diana added.

"You do so much for all of us that I don't see any problem in doing this for you. Normally you would need a ministry order to get them, but we'll just keep quiet about it shall we? These charms might let you see around corners a small distance, or sense a number of other things. They work by blending into your own magical abilities, so I can't say for certain how the magic will manifest itself. Some aurors can see through walls, healers sometimes see diseases, and some people can even see spells inside objects. I would keep the true nature of your sight to yourself, particularly while your body is adjusting to the added ability. Also, as you grow and change so will the charms on these glasses." Harry thanked her multiple times for the added feature, but she wouldn't accept any additional money for the extra spell. She sent him off with a wave and a reminder to get his prescription updated each year.

He wandered into an ancient looking store with no sign, wedged between Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and a women's clothing store. Musical instruments of all kinds hung from the ceiling and lined the walls. Glass cases proudly displayed all kinds of accessories and sheet music. Right in the center of the display was a gorgeous violin. Harry played violin in primary school for a short time and loved every moment of it. As he looked at the dark cherry stained instrument, he remembered the feel of the bow and hum of the strings. He used to play for hours after school, first as an excuse not to go home and later for a recital during the spring talent show. He'd played with five older kids and won first place. The harmony of two violins, two violas and one cello had filled the hall . . .

"Careful there, it's cursed." Harry jumped when a short, very old wizard tapped his shoulder.

"What… Huh?"

"Come over here and have a bit of chocolate, the curse gets into your head when you look at it for the first time. I'd move it into the back, but it lashes out at anyone who tries to move it."

"The violin pulled up my memories?" Harry shook off the sounds of the concert still playing in his head.

"Aye, for some it pulls up terrible memories of lonely silence. Other people get nasty headaches from the overpowering noise it pulls in."

"Can you tell me anything else about it?" Harry hadn't felt anything bad when he looked at the violin, just a wash of awe and serenity.

"Some dark wizard charmed it so it wouldn't get stolen, and it was shipped to me as part of an estate sale going on fifty years ago. He was a wild eccentric and a recluse in his later years, but could play anything you asked of him. A real genius with music, but a bit on the paranoid side when it came to other people. He wouldn't trust his own family with his personal things. Said they were out to get him. Perhaps they were, perhaps they weren't, but he didn't leave them a single knut when he died."

"That's a shame. It looks like a fine violin, and I used to play."

"What's a young man such as yourself have to do with words like 'used to.' Those are words for old men like me!"

"My Aunt and Uncle took me in after the Dark Lord got to my parents. They didn't much like the inconvenience, and anything I did better than my cousin was frowned upon severely." _Uncle Vernon tossed the blue ribbon in the bin and phoned the school. I couldn't play after that. He told them it was a punishment or something._

"A shame, that is, but once again your language confuses me. You're speaking in past-tense about family you still have."

"I'm not living with them anymore, because of the things they used to do to me." _I remember now, he said I spray painted the playground shed. He caught Dudley doing it when they were taking me into the auditorium. They were late of course, wouldn't have taken me at all if Mrs. Graiff hadn't raved about her son's duet with me during tea that day. _"I'd like to take a closer look at the violin if you don't mind. It didn't bother me too much when I looked at it earlier."

"Didn't it now? Strange, but that's no happy story it dug out of your brain if your expression is anything to go by. Look, but I wouldn't touch it under any circumstances. There is a small painting of a snake that crawls all over it with working fangs. The venom that little snake is packing should not be underestimated."

Harry stood as close as the glass counter would allow to the lovely instrument. He could feel the memories of long hours of practice bubbling up, but they weren't overwhelming this time. He saw the little snake coiling and uncoiling near the bridge. The old man shuffled off into the back again, mumbling something about finding a similar design.

_"Hello there."_ He asked the tiny snake in Parseltongue. It was just a single brush stroke of black paint and a dot of red for an eye.

_"You speak! It has been a long time since anyone spoke to me. My maker was a speaker, and told me many things."_

_"What sort of things, little snake?"_

_"How the day turns to night, and the spring into fall. He told me how to guard myself from fools, and draw good wizards to me."_

_"Anyone who doesn't know how to play is repelled by your intrusion into their mind."_

_"No, Speaker! I do not enter other minds, I merely affect them. I remind others of things in their lives that they have nearly forgotten that they need to remember in song and melody."_

_"I remembered playing a violin when I was little. They were all good memories."_

_"That is good,"_The snake replied simply, like a small child. Harry examined the woodwork closely, but couldn't shake the urge to pick up the long-silent violin.

_"What was your maker like?"_

_"He was a wand maker, but he made me special for one of his friends many years ago. He kept me at a school until one of his students picked me up. The girl grew old, and started showing me around, waiting for me to draw in my next owner. I was then sold to a lonely man who played me for hours, but he stopped going out of the house at all after a few years. You are the first since then to come closer to me while the memory spell was active, and the second speaker I've met since my creation." _The little snake wiggled excitedly.

_"May I pick you up?"_

_"Please, play me. I have been silent for so long I worry I can make sound at all."_

Harry lifted the rosy violin from its stand, tucking it under his chin. The magic surged again and he adjusted his grip and stance as he lifted the bow. The sweet tones of a nearly-forgotten song filled the small shop. The old man ran out of the back room and stood frozen in shock to the scene before him. Harry remembered the hours of practice as if he'd done it all yesterday, hitting every note with ease.

"It isn't hurting you?"

"It's beautiful. How much do you want for it?" Harry put the violin into the empty case beside the stand.

"I don't get it. It bit or hexed anyone with the mental strength to get past the probes it sends out."

"Then it's been taking up valuable space in your shop and scaring away customers. What would you say to twenty galleons?"

"I paid a fair bit more for it but you make a good point, make it thirty. I still want to know how you played it."

"Sounds like a fair deal. It said it was made by a wand maker, and I am only the fifth person to play it in its considerably long existence. The wand chooses the wizard, and this violin was made to be the same."

"The violin spoke?"

"It spoke as clearly as it sings, though not many people can hear its words," Harry said as vaguely as he could. He paid for the instrument before the old man could change his mind, it was a steal at twice the price.

He didn't put the violin in the expanded bag with the rest of his things, but carried it proudly. It made him even less likely to be recognized in a way, since The-Boy-Who-Lived didn't play violin. After poking into a few more shops, he looked into the window of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and smiled at Fred and George as they managed the small crowd of customers in their busy shop. Should he go in? He planned on going to headquarters when he was done shopping, and he couldn't think of anything else he needed. It would give the twins a shock to see him walking around in broad daylight while the entire order was out looking for him.

Harry slipped into a concealed corner to take off some of his disguise. He murmured the counter-spell to the charm that kept his make-up from rubbing off and pulled out a handkerchief. He quickly replaced the bandanna once the muggle make-up was gone and took a deep breath. This was going to be pure Gryffindor foolishness, and if he could keep up the act it was going to be beautiful.

Last Edit: March 29, 2012


	7. Public Relations

7: **Public Relations**

Harry strode into the brightly lit joke shop, taking in the kaleidoscope of colors. He leaned against a pillar in the center of the action and watched George help an eleven year old with brand new Hogwarts robes decide on prank sweets. Fred was wrapping up a large order for delivery to some unsuspecting individual. Then he saw trouble, a little girl was playing with a display of miniature portable swamps _(Up to One Square Meter of Swamp in Every Capsule!)._ She couldn't be more than five, and her mother was too busy with her older son to notice.

"Hey there little girl, leave that alone right now! You aren't supposed to eat that!" Harry commanded.

The mother rounded on Harry, making it plain that he had no right to speak to her spoiled little brat in that tone. It also got Fred's attention.

"Is there a problem here?"

"This young man just yelled at my daughter."

"Fred, are you daft? You can't put the mini portable swamps down where five year olds can reach them. Even if they smell like old socks, they are small enough that some little kids will try to eat them." Harry pointed to the little girl, still clutching a mini swamp.

"The kid would have to have a very weird idea of what tastes good. Wait a minute. Harry? Holy . . . What are you doing here! Everyone is looking for you, you know. Mum's going nuts."

"Fred, are you having some trouble over there?" George called from the register.

"Just a little girl trying to eat something, but Harry's back!"

"What does this have to do with my little girl getting yelled at by a bully?" The prim young witch asked.

"Madam, your little girl was about to eat a portable swamp. I know it's busy in here, but you should keep a better watch on what your daughter is attempting to ingest. I should know, as I am well acquainted with these two mischief makers."

"Really? And who exactly are you, one of their seven thousand relatives?"

"I am Harry Potter, and I'll thank you not to insult my friends when you are in their shop. I just dropped by to see how business was going and saw your daughter chewing on that little box she has in her hand. It isn't meant to be eaten." The woman's jaw dropped in shock.

"Would Daisy have been hurt?" The girl's older brother spoke up.

"It wouldn't have hurt her; we keep the igniters in the back so they can't go off accidentally. She might have gotten a nasty case of the hiccups at the very worst." Fred assured him.

"So are you really Harry Potter?" The boy asked.

"Yes, I really am." Harry said, adjusting the bandanna to reveal his scar.

"Wait 'till I tell the guys at school I met Harry Potter! This is so cool."

"How old are you?" Harry noticed that the whole shop was focused on him, and decided he should deal with his celebrity as best he could while Fred contacted the Order. He waved Fred to the back room to speed things along.

"I'm eight." The black haired boy replied, staring with wide brown eyes.

"When I was eight I didn't know I was a wizard at all, and wanted to play music for a living."

"No way!" An older girl gasped. It was a Hufflepuff third year he'd never gotten to know.

"Is that why you have a violin case with you?" Her father asked.

"Yes it is. I've been playing as a summer job for a muggle business. I'm not a celebrity in their world so it's more comfortable." It wasn't difficult to lie, and it fit in with the image he hoped to build now that Fudge and the Daily Profit were so thoroughly discredited.

"You _worked_ all summer?" A blond man behind him asked, dumbfounded.

"Of course I did. Don't most young men get summer jobs at my age? It's nice to earn my own money at a nice, boring job where no one recognizes me, and quite a bit easier than begging it off my Uncle."

"The Potter family was always a bit funny when it came to money." An ancient wizard accompanied by a number of young children commented.

"Did you know my parents or grandparents, Sir?" Some of the people in the crowd were shocked to hear The-Boy-Who-Lived speak to a stranger with such respect.

"I'm not nearly so young! I knew your great-grandparents. Darleen Potter-Samson was a lovely woman, though she had an iron will. She taught me a thing or two about the value of a sickle in her day, though she didn't seem to lack for money herself."

"Waste not, want not." Harry nodded.

"Ha! That is a Potter thing to say if ever there was one. It is good thing you haven't lost the lessons your family learned years ago."

"Life would be frightfully dull if I sat around all day doing nothing. If I start working hard now, I can look ahead to a long relaxing retirement someday."

"But you are The-Boy-Who-Lived!" The blond man shouted. "You shouldn't have to work for muggles; you're a celebrity, our savior."

"No Sir! My celebrity stops me from working a normal job in the wizarding world, but I like my work. Perhaps once the war is over I can get something stable. Until then I'll just have to work odd jobs and put in the hours of practice like every other violinist does. I don't want any hand outs, they tend to turn people into lazy good for nothings."

"Darleen would be proud to hear it!" The elderly man added.

"She had a hand in it! Family traditions being what they are, I'll run through my inherited allowance if I slack off too much. The Muggle pounds I earn after hours of practice I'll gladly spend, but only on things that are worth what it took to get that money in the first place." Molly Weasley came out of the back room with the air of a predator stalking its prey. "Well, I'm afraid I can't spend all day talking to you nice folks about the value of hard work. It was nice speaking to you all." Harry turned just in time to be pulled into a crushing hug.

"Harold James Potter, where have you been? No owl. No note. No sight of you for over a month!"

"I've been fine, Mrs. Weasley. Shall we go home now? I haven't been getting as much sleep as I might have been lately."

"If he's been spending time with the Weasleys it's no small wonder he values hard work." Harry heard the blond man mumbling. "They know the value of hard work better than most."

"You mean their poor." The woman with the spoiled girl spat.

"A comment like that could only come from someone who has never had to work for what they have." The old man croaked as he ushered his great-grandchildren to the register. "Don't you little nippers listen to that overstuffed peacock; Mr. Potter's got the right idea. Honest work and a clean conscience will get you where you need in life." Harry didn't hear the end of the old man's speech, as he had been dragged into the back room. Before he could get a good look around he was stuffed in the floo and sent spinning away.

Harry landed on the floor in the kitchen of number 12, Grimmauld place. He was immediately accosted by Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Remus Lupin.

"Harry! Where have you been, China?" Ron asked, helping Harry out of the fireplace.

"Diagon Alley, I had to buy a few things. How do you like the new glasses?"

"You've been hiding in Diagon Alley all summer?" Remus asked incredulously.

"No." Harry answered. Mrs. Weasley stepped out of the floo and sat across from Remus at the table.

"Well then, where have you been?" Hermione asked. "The Order has been looking for you everywhere."

"I know, isn't it marvelous? No one could find me at all! Even after Voldemort joined in I couldn't be found. I just plain dropped off the face of the Earth didn't I?" Harry smiled and got himself a glass of lemonade.

"Harry James! That is the cruelest thing I have ever heard you say." Mrs. Weasley gasped. "We were all worried sick . . ."

"Not Snape." Harry interrupted. "He celebrated with a glass of scotch, I'm sure. I was perfectly safe, which I'm not at the Dursleys. Last summer should have driven home that point quite well."

"How did you know Severus liked scotch?" Remus narrowed his eyes. "Did he drink in front of you?"

"He tried to teach me Occlumency, I did occasionally see the inside of his greasy head. Not often though, since he wasn't actually teaching me much of anything." Harry sipped his lemonade, happy to have changed the subject.

"What do you mean?" Remus was out for blood today, if Harry remembered correctly. He almost felt bad for Snape, but memories of degrading insults quickly dissolved any pity Harry might have had.

"He had me stand still for an hour while he tossed hex after hex in my direction. Then, he told me to clear my mind. Then more hexing and I fell into bed exhausted. Eventually I got tired of being tortured and insulted for no good reason. Don't you even open your mouth! No one told me why I was doing anything, so no matter what real danger existed I didn't know about it. If any of you had trusted my judgment enough to say 'Oh, by the way Harry, there are a few things you should know about any strange dreams you may have been having lately' then things might have been different. Unfortunately you didn't, so I didn't care much if I blew off a man who did everything in his power to humiliate me." Harry said all this in a quiet, calm voice, as if he was talking about the weather.

"He didn't assign you any book work or give you reading assignments?" Hermione was horrified. "How could he expect you to learn without _books_? Even Trelawney gave you something substantial to work with."

"I'm not sure what he expected of me, but it wasn't working." Harry continued to sip his lemonade. It was a little difficult to keep the truth from his adopted family, but it was best for everyone.

"But China, that doesn't explain where you've been all summer." Ron pressed ahead. "So what if Snape is a right bas . . . err . . . is not very nice, we all knew that."

"Careful there Ron, Professor Snape may be a right basket, but he is a basket with his life on the line for the lot of us." Mrs. Weasley glared at the almost profanity Ron and Harry had used. "Molly, would you prefer I called him a bar steward? It's the truth. I really do have respect for what the man does for all of us, but only to a point. His extracurricular activities can only be excused so much by his spy activities, and he had no right to do what he did to me."

"When did you learn to be so sneaky, Harry?" Ginny stood in the doorway. "I heard it all from the hallway, and I don't believe it."

"What do you mean, Ginny?" Hermione asked.

"I mean he has the lot of you wrapped around his little finger. Every time you ask him where he's been all summer he changes the subject. I want to know where he learned to do it." Ginny crossed her arms, demanding an answer.

"You are very lucky to see though that act, Ginny; it's a great skill to have. If you could see through that very well thought out orchestration you could probably see through some guy trying to chat you up. As for where I learned to do that, I'll remind you all that the sorting hat did originally want to put me into Slytherin. Perhaps if Dean doesn't work out you should start dating some serpents." Ron looked murderous.

"How dare you suggest my little sister has any qualities that would make her appealing to Slytherins! If any of them get within fifty feet of her I'll break their legs."

"Shut up Ron!" Ginny hollered. "Don't you see Harry's just changed the subject again?"

"Ginny has a point." Molly Weasley added. Remus just looked at Harry with concern. "You have been evading us. I want a strait answer, right now."

"I'm only going to say it once, and if I haven't missed my guess Dumbledore will need to have an order meeting about my reappearance. Until then I'm not saying a word on the subject."

"Does it hurt you so much? I'm sorry Harry; I wish I could go back and fix it all." Remus was teetering between bloodthirsty and weeping, and it terrified Harry. "None of us meant for it to happen, it isn't anyone's fault. Don't shut us out now, we can help you. We can help you through the pain and it will get better. It won't hurt less, just less often, but it won't be so bad forever."

"I'll talk to the Order at the next meeting. In the meantime, I'm quite hungry. I have greatly missed eating hot food." Right on cue, Mrs. Weasley flew to the task of cooking dinner. Everyone spouted objections to what Harry implied, but he told them he had been forced into a semi-vegetarian lifestyle since he didn't have access to a stove. Mrs. Weasley explained what had been going on at the shop when she arrived. When she was nearly done she stopped suddenly and turned to Harry.

"You were talking about a summer job playing violin at the twin's shop; didn't you have a place to stay?" Mrs. Weasley asked as she served some quickly prepared hamburgers and soup. "You must have had some money from that."

"I lied." Harry said right before he attacked his meal.

"To a room full of people?" Hermione gasped.

"Since when could Harry play the violin?" Ron asked, confused. Harry swallowed quickly.

"Since I was seven." He immediately shoved more food in his mouth. His high metabolism clearly hadn't died down yet, and his amplified appetite from using the time turner made him ravenous.

"How come none of us knew?" Ginny asked, clearly offended.

"The violin belonged to my primary school. I had to give it back when I graduated. Can you pass me the soup bowl? Thanks Ron. Now that I bought one I'll be able to practice all the time. The lack of practice hasn't been that bad for me, since I visualized the violin and moved my left hand as a way to relieve stress sometimes." He hoped they would believe that, since the magical properties of the violin were best kept secret.

"I hope you don't mind if we give you a week or so to get warmed up." Ron cautiously added. "Just so you can get all your squeaks out in private."

"I play for my own enjoyment, so I don't mind either way."

When Harry had eaten his fill and the dishes were cleared away Mrs. Weasley herded everyone but Harry and Remus out of the room. The werewolf produced a thick envelope cut open on one end and gave it to Harry.

EDIT: Fixed some typos. Added a line about the violin to make it clear that the enchantments on the violin, not Harry's skill, are responsible for his performance in the 4th paragraph above this one.


	8. The Order Issue

**8: The Order Issue**

"Your O.W.L. results arrived a while ago. We had to open them to know what sort of school books you would need. We are all very proud." Remus beamed at him. Harry unfolded the heavy parchment letter to read the results:

_Astronomy – A_  
_Defense Against the Dark Arts – O_  
_Divination – T_  
_Care of Magical Creatures – EE_  
_Charms – EE_  
_Herbology – EE_  
_Potions – O_  
_Transfiguration – EE_  
_History - P_

_Mr. Harry James Potter is encouraged to continue in the subjects Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Herbology, and Transfiguration. He is highly encouraged to continue in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions. He is encouraged to leave the study of History. He is strongly encouraged to leave the study of Divination. He may continue in Astronomy if he desires._

The form-letter was accompanied by a second sheet which gave a breakdown of the various grades and commented on anything out of the ordinary.

_The 'O' grade in potions is given with the suggestion that Mr. Potter work on his confidence in the area, as the only observable problem in his practical exam was a slight tremor in his stirring hand. The written exam was excellent, though some second-guessing was obviously involved. Lack of confidence is not a serious worry, as many students in his year exhibit the same problems.  
Mr. Potter's Defense Against the Dark Arts 'O' is given with a distinction. The examination board has not seen such excellent work in years and hopes that this great talent will be put to good use in the future.  
Astronomy grades were slightly adjusted to account for the disturbance that occurred during the practical examination.  
Since Mr. Potter fell asleep during his History exam, it may not be a true reflection of his knowledge in this subject area. He may continue in that class with approval from three of the following: Headmaster, Professor, Parent/Guardian, and Head of House._

"I passed potions! I got an O in potions! I don't believe it."

"Well it looks like you know what you are doing; you just aren't confident enough, so don't let Snape scare you." Remus seemed honestly impressed. "And please don't run away from us again."

"So I won't be taking Astronomy or Divination next year?" Harry ignored the last comment.

"Or Herbology, Aurors should take Care of Magical Creatures and we didn't want you to be overworked . . . Is something wrong, Harry?"

"I got an EE in Herbology, and I like the class. I really wanted to keep taking it. I'll gladly drop History."

"History is a graduation requirement, you can't drop it. Getting a low grade in History just puts you in a remedial class. You only needed five N.E.W.T. level classes to be an Auror, and with your other responsibilities . . ."

"I need five EE grades in my N.E.W.T.s, but I also need to be flexible. To keep my options open I'll drop Care of Magical Creatures before I drop Herbology, but I'd really rather try both first. Is it too late to change that?"

"No, but I'll have to go buy the things you will need for N.E.W.T. level Herbology class. You are sure you want to try to keep both classes?"

"For now, I'll keep them. I can drop Care of Magical Creatures later if it gets to be too much." As Harry was talking, the members of the Order of the Phoenix started to come into the Kitchen. Tonks picked him right up out of his chair to give him a bone-crushing hug.

"Really Harry, what was going on in your head when you ran away from Professor Snape?" The Metamorphmagus asked. When Harry didn't answer right away she deposited him back in his chair, but Harry stood up and walked over to the fireplace. Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Elphias Doge, Dedalus Diggle, and Emmeline Vance took the far side of the room. George Weasley, Sturgis Podmore, Fred Weasley, Hestia Jones, Mundungus Fletcher, Minerva McGonagall, and Albus Dumbledore gathered around the Kitchen table.

Snape claimed the corner closest to the fireplace, which didn't surprise Harry at all. The warm shadows were quite similar to Snape's personal chambers. When he looked around again, Harry was almost ill at the pitying and apologetic expressions on most of the other's faces. He hoped they wouldn't push him for answers too hard. He had no intentions of telling them anything, but wasn't sure how much force he could put behind that decision.

"Harry, I've let you dodge the subject so far, but now that we are all here you have to tell us what was going on this summer." Remus' patronizing tone grated on Harry's nerves. "Sirius wouldn't want you to just run away and quit."

"This has precious little to do with my late godfather. I did it to prove to myself that I could, nothing more."

"Reckless behavior got Mr. Black into a rather large amount of trouble over the years, Harry." Dumbledore's pity hit Harry like acid. "He made his own decisions, which you are not responsible for in any way." Harry ignored the Headmaster, cutting him off to focus on Fred.

"You know Fred; I don't see what the big deal is. I found myself a nice little escape plan, which would have gone much better if you hadn't traded your slot with Professor Snape. The again, I got away cleanly with, what was it? Forty seconds before Professor Snape rounded that corner into the park? Maybe it was a bit less; the Professor is a surprisingly fast runner. I could have disappeared indefinitely, I'm sure of it . . ."

"You can't just run from all your troubles, Harry." Harry was glad that Mad Eye wasn't following the 'lets all pity Potter' trend. "It's cowardly and doesn't fix anything. Everyone here knows that you are a strong person for your age, and Mr. Black's death hit you hard. Stop acting like a twit and face you're future like the man you are, or will be after your growth spurt anyway."

"I've already had my growth spurt." Harry deadpanned. "I was a full eight centimeters taller this past June than I was the same time last year, but it is highly doubtful that I'll go much further than that."

"Height issues aside, you can't just run away from everything because something bad happened!" Remus got up from the table and stood close to Harry, reaching out as if to hug him. "Leaving won't change the facts and might make the pain worse . . ."

"Remus, you just don't understand my point of view. This isn't about running from my pain or fears, this is about survival. There is a big problem here and I need to fix it. In order to beat Voldemort and stop the killing I have to live. That is the first step and I can't do it from inside a cage. Sirius did what he did because that is what he felt was right and no one can change it. I know that and I accept it because I have to, but I will not condemn anyone else to death for the sake of my comfort." He twisted the last word like a curse; the slight pause was time enough for Remus to start again.

"Harry, you didn't . . ."

"I'm not blaming myself the way you think I am!" Harry shouted at the werewolf, stepping away from him and closer to Severus' warm corner. "It was Dumbledore making a vain attempt to preserve my childhood that caused this. He wouldn't tell me anything, so I went looking for answers by myself. It was bad judgment all around." Harry swept his arm across the room. "I can't take being left in the dark, Snape can't teach, Sirius didn't think, and Voldemort won't allow me to remain innocent the way everyone wants. Add to that I didn't trust Snape enough to go to him when I needed help, a situation caused by many choices we both made over the past five years, and a disaster of this caliber was just waiting to happen. All I can do at this point is fix the root problem that caused the whole mess in the first place. The temporary fixes wear off too quickly and treating the symptoms hasn't cut it for the past two years,"

"So you just ran away . . ." Arthur Weasley started, bewildered.

"I found a way to run and hide, to give myself another option. I didn't have any other choices left! I refuse to be nothing more than a pawn in this war, waiting to move on command. I refuse to let hopelessness and fear rule my life. I needed a back door, if not to actually run away than at least for my psychological wellbeing. From now on I'm not going to let other people dictate my actions for me, but to make decisions for myself I need to know what is going on. I have to fix this, and if the cost is my innocence then so be it. Let me grow up and face what I have coming, or I'll leave and let you face what can't be stopped without me." The room fell silent as the members of the Order of the Phoenix absorbed Harry's words.

"You would leave permanently?" Moody was the first to recover from the shock.

"No, I think you all realize I couldn't do that if my life depended on it, and it does. I would disappear again, perhaps for a year or two, and return when I had things sorted out. I won't go lightly; I only left this time because I needed to know that I could."

"Are we sure this is Potter?" Snape detached himself from the shadows in the corner. "This sudden burst of eloquence, asserting dominance in a thirst for power, running away in terror, and making demands are not our little Golden Boy's style."

"Caring isn't your style, Snape, so what does that say for you?" Harry shot back, telling his conscience that he was not Imber.

"How else could he get into Headquarters?" Tonks asked.

"Perhaps the sorting hat was more right about me than I'd like to admit. Perhaps Sirius' death changed me. Perhaps I'm not the happy little ninny you all thought I was. Perhaps I grew up too fast with the Dursley's, acted the way I thought I was expected to act at Hogwarts, made a royal mess of things trying to stick up for my values, and finally decided it wasn't worth the effort."

"Severus: you must accept two facts. First of all, that young man is Harry James Potter. Secondly, I have made a terrible mistake." Albus Dumbledore stated with a finality that left a chill in the air.

"Will you be alright, mate? Not the way you were of course, but better I mean." Fred asked carefully after a moment of silence. Harry smiled a just a little, and started to softly laugh.

"There isn't anything wrong; you've just never seen me act that way before. I tend to hang around you two when I want a laugh or am in a good mood. What you just witnessed was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, being scary. It doesn't happen often, I promise, and usually doesn't have a reason to happen when you two are around anyway." Herry leaned toward the twins conspiringly, "Ever wonder why Malfoy would rather become a eunuch than face me without at _least _Crabbe and Goyle for backup, when I've never actually done anything terrible to him? No, I'm quite happy being regular old Harry around the lot of you, excluding the Professors."

"What then, you become a brainless twit?" Snape snarled.

"No, but close. I put up the Boy Who Lived façade and hope you don't see through it like so much smoke and mirrors; however, for you Snape I like to act a bit more defensive. I'm guaranteed to need it in every conversation, and you are much easier to handle when I let your little power trips run their course." Snape seemed to puff up for a moment, but his reply was cut off by the Headmaster.

"I'm afraid he has you on that point, Severus. The only reason any of his behavior seems out of character is because Harry is demanding equality and respect when you have always perceived him as a weak or submissive person, neither of which seems true."

"He is a rude and arrogant spoiled little brat!"

"You are a petty man with a violent temper bent on revenge for something that happened two decades ago. If I could apologize for my father I would, but I never knew the man so the words would be nothing but so much hot air. All I can say is that it is sad and disturbing for a thirty six year old man to be unable to distinguish between a dead _man_ and his _son_."

"Harry James Potter, you will not speak to your professor in such a manner!" Mrs. Weasley admonished while everyone in the room stared at them. Snape's face had lost some of its color.

"I only said it because it was the truth, and that is why it stings him. I am not James Potter and I have no claim to his mistakes, though I am willing to learn from them. Professor Snape's insults sting me because he believes those lies and I can't change his mind even after he rummaged around in my memories. If I am spoiled, then I don't want to even think about the majority of the other students. Really, Sir, what do you call Draco Malfoy? Or is it alright for him to be spoiled because of his family?" Snape stood there, white as a sheet as the Order looked between the two opponents. At length Harry asked a simpler question. "Can you honestly say you still believe I grew up in the lap of luxury? I really do want to hear the answer."

"No." It was a quiet answer, and the Order patiently waited for the rest, but the dark professor simply fled the kitchen

"I . . ." Professor McGonagall started. "I can't believe . . . I've never seen him run away like that!

"It's about damn time."

"Harry James Potter! Watch your language!" Mrs. Weasley shouted. "What was that all about? You will explain yourself."

"Sometimes there are things that can not be properly described without profanity. Professor Snape was just forced, very painfully I should add, to grow up. He's hated me because of some fantasy he dreamed up about my life that has fuck all to do with real life: A wet dream starring me in the lap of luxury with my Aunt and Uncle waiting on me hand and foot. It couldn't be further from the truth, and I'm tired of putting up with derogatory comments on all fronts for no good reason."

"What do you mean? I thought the Dursleys raised you well." Shacklebolt spoke up. The tall Auror seemed quite perplexed. "What you have been saying hints at, well, nothing good."

"Just say it, Kingsley. Mr. Potter, are you implying you were abused as a child?" Mad Eye stared with both eyes strait into Harry.

"Give me one good reason to answer that question, or better yet, ask that manipulative sneak you call a Headmaster. I am going to take a nap, as I haven't gotten nearly enough sleep the past few days." Harry slipped out the door before anyone could recover from the shock. Thankfully, Ron didn't put up a fight when Harry asked for a half-hour of silence to nap in.

Harry hadn't meant to be so vicious, but once he started to let out his true emotions he couldn't stop. Remus had hunted down Snape and shouted loud enough to be heard over Mrs. Black's wailing. It wasn't that Harry hadn't meant what he said; just that he hadn't meant to be _that_ honest about everything. The next morning Remus begged to know where Harry had been, but Harry said nothing.

The usual cleaning activities began after lunch, and Harry was informed that Kreature died a violent death on the last full moon. For the most part things were normal, though Harry did feel the loss of his godfather again.

"I understand, Harry. The fewer people who know where you are, the safer you are, but we worry." Hermione assured him just before dinner. They had been clearing pixies out of a closet, snagging a few for Fred and George's experiments. Ron was less forgiving, but could tell Harry wouldn't give in.

"I won't hold it against you . . . much. Just don't get Mum worked up again, alright? You might not have been here, but we had to deal with her." Ron forced a smile, but it was a start. Harry promised Hermione that he had finished all his homework, leaving only one issue open for argument: the violin.

"Come on, Harry! Just play a song or two, for us. We won't tell anyone if you're terrible." Ginny begged late Wednesday night.

"Ginny's right Harry, we all want to hear it!" Hermione said from the kitchen table.

"It's the least you can do after keeping us in the dark about where you've been." Ron chimed in. It wasn't until Remus, whose unstable moods proved he was still grieving heavily, asked Harry to play that he gave in.

They moved to the completely restored sitting room while Harry got his violin. He was a little self-conscious, but he wouldn't get any peace until he did it. He reverently pulled the instrument out of its case, twisting the frog with a flourish. As he raised the bow to the strings he took a deep breath, collecting his emotions. The magic of the violin kicked in and a slow, sorrowful song took shape in his mind; his fingers gripped the neck of the violin firmly. He poured himself into the smooth sound of the violin, allowing his grief over his godfather's death to flow out of him through the vibrating strings. It wasn't until halfway through that he recognized the song. "Solace" was played with a flute and acoustic guitar when he first heard it, but the lone violin cried just as powerfully.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, Remus, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron sat in shocked silence as the final note faded. Molly and Hermione had tears running down their faces, and Remus was staring at the floor shaking. Harry decided the best thing to do was keep playing, and started in immediately on the first thing that came to mind. It was another sad slow song, but with a little more hope to it. "Warm Air" was also performed with background music, and it lost some of the light innocence without the flute and harp.

"Blimey." George breathed.

"That was beautiful." Remus said to the carpet, voice and shoulders shaking slightly. "I don't know the songs, but nothing could better express it all. If that's what you have been doing all summer than I understand. I understand..." The werewolf trailed off.

"I know, Remus. We all know, and it's alright. You know what else? I missed my birthday completely. How about I play something a little lighter and we have a little fun? I'm not sure I remember it all, but there is a song called "Devil's Trill." It's a little tricky." Harry started in on the fast-paced song, and the dark mood dissolved. Even Remus perked up a little.

"How come you didn't tell us you were so good at this, Harry?" Ron asked. "You're amazing with that thing."

"What other songs do you know?" Mr. Weasley wondered.

"I just like to do it, so I don't care it I'm any good or not. I won a contest in my Primary school with some other kids for playing 'Pachelbel's Canon.' It sounds stupid without the other violins since it is a canon. We also played 'Fade to Black.' I could fake it, I guess."

"You can play 'Fade to Black?' I love that song! I don't see how it could be played on a violin, though." Hermione cheered. Harry's jaw dropped.

"Of all the music groups under the sun, you like Metallica? You, the quiet bookworm we all know and love, enjoy listening to a hard rock group?" The others in the room didn't know much about Muggle music, so they just looked back and forth between the two.

"Well, it isn't a very abrasive song. They aren't that bad, honestly."

"Oh, yes, they are very high class, quite sophisticated . . . if you wear black make-up and enjoy head banging!"

"Just play the song, Harry." Hermione huffed.

"Wait, who is banging who?" Fred piped up.

"You'll see, Fred." Harry started playing, stretching his talents and the magic of the violin to the limit to re-produce a song usually played by multiple musicians. Hermione helped by tapping out the beat on the chair arm. As he played, he started to sing softly:

_Life it seems will fade away  
Drifting further every day  
Getting lost within myself  
Nothing matters no one else  
I have lost the will to live  
Simply nothing more to give  
There is nothing more for me  
Need the end to set me free_

_Things are not what they used to be  
Missing one inside of me  
Deathly lost, this can't be real  
Cannot stand this hell I feel  
Emptiness is filling me  
To the point of agony  
Growing darkness taking dawn  
I was me, but now He's gone_

_No one but me can save myself, but it to late  
Now I can't think, think why I should even try_

_Yesterday seems as though it never existed  
Death greets me warm, now I will just say good-bye._

As Harry played the last few powerful bars he was greeted by applause. The song's dark lyrics and not-so-perfect performance were overshadowed for a few moments as the youngest four Weasleys accosted him.

"You know, Harry." Hermione's serious expression quieted the twins' enthusiastic comments. "That song is rather appropriate. You aren't the person you used to be." Harry just blinked for a moment.

"I'm going to have to learn some Bach. There is no deep, hidden meaning that has not been found and explored in music over a century old. Stop analyzing everything so much. I played the song because you said you liked it. Just you see if I do that again!" Harry proclaimed. The room filled with deep, cleansing laughter. The last of the awkwardness from Harry's disappearance dissolved, leaving the group of dear friends to the simple pleasure of one another's company.


	9. Back to School

9: Back to School 

The morning of September first dawned miserable and drizzly. When Harry sat down for breakfast he was surprised to find he couldn't finish the stack of pancakes Mrs. Weasley put down in front of him. He had been packing away the syrup coated things by the dozen, but his apatite seemed to have finally calmed down. Mrs. Weasley attributed it to nerves, but Harry thought it was because the time magic had worn off.

True to form, they arrived at the station minutes before the train pulled away. Fred and George split off to looks for some of their own friends. They had petitioned for a license to open a shop in Diagon Alley, but their forms to request taking the NEWT exams kept getting lost in the Ministry. George had speculated that their ex-brother Percy might have something to do with it, and the pair was plotting revenge. In the meantime the Headmaster gave them permission to take the year over, as that was the only way they could take their NEWTs. Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione settled into an empty compartment in the middle of the train. Before long, Neville came by and sat with them. The five of them chatted about inane things. The four older students would be in Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, and Transfiguration classes together. Neville was happy with his Acceptable in potions, it was better than he was expecting. He didn't want to spend any more time in Professor Snape's company anyway. Ron and Hermione had also received Outstanding grades for potions. Ron swore it had to do with the Polyjuice question.

Harry and Neville were in a lower History class. Hermione nagged him until Harry mentioned that he intended to test out of the lower class. Hermione also had Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, and Ron was continuing Divination. Ron hadn't had the greatest grades, scarcely making it into Charms and Transfiguration. Ginny said he should have put more effort into it, and it occurred to Harry that Ginny was becoming a great deal like her mother.

A ride on the Hogwarts express just wouldn't be the same without candy and a rude interruption, and Harry wasn't disappointed. They had just started in on the snacks from the trolley when Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle stepped into the open compartment door.

"I see the great savior has returned from his grand adventures. Running scared Potter?"

"Actually I was studying most of the summer, Malfoy. I couldn't very well practice dark spells with Muggles all around me, could I? It would be hard to keep that sort of thing quiet."

"As if some summer studying could possibly make a difference. You are on the loosing side, Potter." Harry stood up, but still had to look up at the tall blond to make eye contact. Just as Harry was about to speak, he started seeing flashes of something in Malfoy's eyes. The images sharpened, and Harry studied them.

"What are you looking at, Potter?" The comment came out a little more worried than Malfoy meant it to. Potter was staring at him in the strangest way, like he was trying to look through him.

"I'm wondering how mentally stable your Father is, and whether or not he has done anything to you yet. Over a month in Azkaban, with the sort of memories he has in his head, would unhinge most people. You and I both know what your father is. He has tortured and killed people simply because they disagree with an extremist."

"Shut up. You don't know what you are talking about!" Malfoy sounded halfway convincing, but Harry could plainly see an argument between Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy playing out in Draco's head. Lucius was throwing things and ranting while Draco peeked through a keyhole, terrified.

"I think I do. I think I know very well what can happen to someone who has real horrors in their past when they come up against a Dementor. I think you are scared of your father, with good reason. Most of all I think a madman leading a troop of half-crazed and broken men has little chance of succeeding."

"The Dark Lord will win this war."

"No, he may make a very large mess and take many lives, but he will not win. I will kill him, if not for my parents, then for my godfathers." Harry stepped back, shrugging it off as if it was nothing at all.

"What will you do, play your violin so bad he kills himself to shut out the sound?"

"I play very well, so I doubt it. I could just use the killing curse, but there are many worse ways to go. Incineration, blood loss, snapped neck, and a knife in the back all spring to mind. There is also burning acid, toxic fumes, drowning, boiling oil . . ." Harry sat down as he rattled off gruesome ways to kill a raving madman, upsetting everyone in the compartment.

"Oi, Harry!" Ron interrupted, "Some of us are trying to eat our snacks."

"Your right Ron, I forgot poisoning." Harry smiled viciously. "I was expecting Malfoy to have left quite a while ago. He just doesn't take a hint, does he? Perhaps I should use the Death Eater's kids as practice. I mean, I've only ever killed one person before and that wasn't strictly intentional."

"What? Who did you kill? I thought everyone at the ministry got locked up alive." Neville squeaked in shock. Malfoy was looking rather pale, but had not left yet. He seemed to be thinking of a parting remark, but was too scared to come up with one. Crabbe and Goyle were looking quickly between Malfoy and Harry, clearly wanting to get out of there.

"Harry killed Professor Quirrell back in first year." Hermione told him.

"I don't think the elder Malfoy will go down as easily as he did. The man touched me once, and the magic didn't fry him on contact the way it did Quirrell. Honestly, I don't know how anyone can support Voldemort so long as the Headmaster and I are still around. Don't get me wrong, I'm still angry at that manipulative sneak, but the Headmaster is a very powerful wizard."

"I . . . We'll see who comes out on top, Potter." Malfoy stuttered a little, and fled the compartment.

"Step one completed." Harry proudly announced.

"What do you mean, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Voldemort is going to need more Death Eaters soon. Adults have pretty much made up their minds, so he needs to pick up younger followers. The more questions we can give them, the longer it will take them to make up their minds. For those who can't be saved, some indecision might be the best we can get."

The rest of the trip was spent talking about much less depressing things. Quidditch was the first order of business. Harry had been informed that his lifetime ban from Quidditch was lifted, and was looking forward to flying again. There was also speculation about the new DADA professor and chatter about Fred and George's upcoming pranks.

Harry waved to Hagrid when they stepped off the train. As they approached the thestral-drawn carriages Neville gasped. Harry felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on him.

"You can see them, can't you?" The words hung in the air for a moment. "I guess I knew it, but I was hoping . . . Who knows what that thing was anyway, you know?"

"It's alright, Harry." Ron put an arm around his good friend. "He was your godfather, and a great guy."

"Get in the carriage and try not to think about it too much." Neville offered. Hermione immediately launched into a discussion of their study schedule, and Ron tried desperately to shut her up.

The sorting was boring, but the upbeat atmosphere did lift Harry's spirits. He cheered for each of the eleven first years to be sorted into Gryffindor, the largest group in any house for over a decade. Slytherin gained only six new students, all girls, which caused a bit of a stir. The Headmaster stood up to make his yearly announcements and the chatter died down.

"A few announcements, for our first years as well as a few forgetful older students, before we eat our fill: The Forbidden Forrest is out of bounds for all students. Spell casting in the halls between classes is not permitted, and the list of prohibited items has been amended. Curious students can find the list posted outside Mr. Filch's office. I would like to welcome a new member of the staff, and perhaps we'll keep this one longer than a year, Professor Dupont!" A plump man with graying hair and a bad brown toupee stood up for a moment. An unenthusiastic round of applause greeted him. "Professor Dupont worked as a freelance curse breaker before coming here to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. I think I've droned on long enough. Zipper! Premont! Kingpin!"

The tables filled with food in true Hogwarts style. Harry dug in with gusto, attacking a hot apple pie as if it insulted his mother. He also ate a huge tossed salad, some beans, potatoes, and a little shellfish.

"Oi Harry, what's with the odd food?" Ron asked between mouthfuls of pot pie and roasted chicken. "You haven't touched the chicken." Harry looked at the drumsticks and felt a little queasy.

"Just not into it, I guess. You should have some of this blueberry tart, it's great."

"What is it with you two and food? Tomorrow is Monday, so we have a whole week of classes for once. I can't wait to start." Hermione's strict attitude interjected. Harry just laughed at her and told her to ease up. Studying could wait until they received their timetables at least.

N.E.W.T. classes were not separated by house the same way classes in lower years were. Only Transfiguration, History, and Charms were still crowded enough to require separation by house lines. Potions only needed one class since only a handful of students managed to get in.

Professor Dupont's Defense class was first thing Monday morning. All he did was talk about the upcoming curriculum. This gave Hermione all the information needed to put together a study schedule for the entire year, though there was one problem apparent from the beginning. Professor Dupont's thick accent made understanding him quite difficult, and anything he didn't write on the board took a few moments to comprehend. Obviously, the man didn't speak very much English. Harry had a free period next while Ron went to Divination and Hermione went to Ancient Runes. He spent the time going over the topics Prof. Dupont laid out for that week and touching up some ideas for the D.A. Directly after lunch Prof. McGonagall took Harry aside.

"Mr. Potter, the headmaster is well aware that you have no desire to talk to him at the present time, but he wants to know if you plan on continuing the D.A. this year. The club was not only popular, but productive, and would be a great asset to the school."

"I've already started figuring out what I want to cover."

"That's good to hear. We were wondering if you would mind splitting the group up. There are nearly three hundred students, and not many are on the same level as last year's group. Perhaps two levels could be devised, so that more accomplished students would not become bored and younger ones would not be overwhelmed?"

"The idea has merit, but it will take considerable planning. I'll get things moving, but I can't promise anything until October. I need to see what time Quidditch practices are and all that. Maybe you or Professor Snape could take some of the pressure off by restarting the dueling club?"

"I don't think we could manage that. After Mr. Lockhart's rather pitiful attempt the governors decided any faculty-run club designed to teach children how to fight is not a good idea. A student-run study group on the other hand is well within our scope." Harry smiled, knowing that his head of house wasn't the type to come up with a backdoor approach like that. The Headmaster was certainly behind this, possibly trying to buy him off with a little extra power.

"I'll have to get to work then. Inform the Headmaster he is forgiven for neglecting to inform the Order of the Phoenix about my abusive home life, but not for any of the other points on which we currently disagree." Professor McGonagall jumped a little. "I daresay he will have a hard time finding out the full scope of my activities over the summer, but I did spend a considerable amount of time researching myself and I did not like what I found out."

Harry's afternoon was taken up by double Herbology. They were given randomly chosen partners and a similar spiel about how wonderful it was that they were all continuing the study of Herbology. Harry got paired with Draco Malfoy, and they spent the entire lesson making a point to not look at one another.

Tuesday morning Harry was bored to tears in Transfiguration and Charms. Both teachers did exactly the same thing Professors Sprout and Dupont had the day before. Congratulations on your O.W.L. scores, here is the course outline, read these chapters by next class, and now a short review. After lunch Harry, Ron, and Hermione were actually looking forward to Potions. Snape was sure to break the monotony with a long, well thought out tirade on the shortcomings of Gryffindor intelligence. Harry persuaded his friends to take up seats near the front for maximum Snape enjoyment.

"What do you mean enjoyment?" Ron moaned.

"Perhaps Harry just wants to participate more actively in his studies, something you would do well to emulate." Hermione snapped.

"What I mean is: Snape can't say I'm a spoiled brat anymore so it'll be interesting to watch him try and make up ways to get at me. He's too proud to spread outright lies, and knows they won't affect me anyway so there would be no point. Perhaps he'll have to pick on someone else." The bell rang and Professor Severus Snape came out of the back room to head the class. Harry sat in the second row next to Dean since Seamus dropped Potions. Ron sat behind Harry next to Hermione.

"Welcome to N.E.W.T. level Potions. This class will be similar to your previous Potion classes with a slight change in the average ability of the students involved. I expect you to handle topics faster than in previous years. We will start out the year with an outdated form of the potion Skele-Grow. This version was used for about two centuries before the discovery of the Americas and works over a period of three days to two weeks . . ." Harry understood the notes, but couldn't fathom what was wrong with Snape. There were no belittling comments about anyone in the class. In fact, the professor seemed to be running completely on auto pilot, not hearing or seeing anything beyond his own desk and chalkboard.

"Hey 'Mione, what do you think is up with Snape?" Ron asked while Snape stared blankly at his quill.

"Quiet! I'm just getting to the pixy wings."

"Snape's not going to take points, Hermione. Just look at Malfoy, Snape never let him get away with doing nothing all period."

"Ronald Weasley, if you don't stop talking and let me finish . . ."

"But it's odd isn't it?"

"Ron, perhaps you ought to leave Hermione alone, she's been wound up all morning. I think it's a girl problem." Harry spoke quietly as he calmly stirred his brilliant orange mixture.

"Harry, what did you just say to Ron?" The concentrated wrath in Hermione's eyes made Harry nervous.

"Er . . . that he should button it so we can work in peace?"

"I thought so." She went back to her potion, which was steadily turning brown instead of grey. Harry decided that this was not a good sign at all.

"What is _wrong_ with her?" Ron was more than a little irked when Harry shook his head and kept working on his potion. "Any fool can see something is wrong with Snape. It's like he's broken or something. Weird, really, that he's not prowling around the desks like he usually is."

"I told you to be quiet." Hermione spat, jabbing a ladle in Ron's direction. Unfortunately, said ladle was full of her half-completed potion. Thick ribbons of brown and orange splattered across the desk, sizzling where they came in contact with parchment. Harry saw one ribbon oozing toward Ron's fire, and another much too close to a now leaking bottle of lizard saliva. If either one connected . . .

"Hit the dirt!" Harry screamed, grabbing Dean's arm and yanking him to the floor. A dual explosion rocked the classroom a moment later; first a rush of hot air smelling of Lima beans, second a spray of cold drops of an alkaline paste resembling pond scum.

"What?" Snape's head popped up from behind his desk a moment after Harry's.

"Hermione spilled a bit of her potion by accident. The Lima bean smell is from the bit that got in Ron's fire and the wet is from spilled lizard saliva." Harry answered automatically. He also noticed with a bit of pride that all the members of the D.A. had ducked in time, but all the Slytherins and a few other students he didn't know were all singed and soaked.

"That is . . . correct Mr. Potter. How did you know that?"

"I studied the properties of ladybug wings and oak leaves over the summer, among other things." Harry was quick on the draw for lies today, since he really shouldn't have known that. The Lima bean flavored air blast was described in a potions journal three weeks ago as a parlor trick, and then mimicked by Snape with 'Imber' at his side. He remembered Snape joking: '_I know it's a frivolous party gag, but perhaps the house elves will serve limas more often if I set a few off near the kitchens._' The Oak leaves and lizard spit wasn't as suspicious, it was a long standing fact that the two make a cold wet mess in the presence of pixy wings, even if they don't usually explode. The sticky part is 'Imber' had prevented the same explosion not long ago, on August the 28th. It was a darn good thing that every book on Animagi said it was impossible to become a magical creature.

"Well. Twenty points from Gryffindor for the explosion. Miss Granger, you will get a zero for the day's lesson. Mr. Potter . . . two points . . . to Gryffindor for being alert, and you are excluded from the additional homework. Everyone else, I want a roll of parchment on the combined properties of lizard saliva, ladybug wings, oak leaves, and pixy wings by next week. This is in addition to the parchment on bone potions that I assigned at the beginning of class. Class dismissed." Harry helped a shell-shocked Hermione out the door.

"Harry, do you realize what just happened? You just got points in potions class. You actually received a positive number of points from Professor Snape!" Ron was still rambling on when they reached the common room. The three sat on the couch closest to the fireplace, a tea set brought up by Dobby in front of them.

"Yes Ron, we heard you the first dozen times too." Hermione snapped.

"He was acting odd, like he wasn't all there today. Perhaps he's sick, but wouldn't go up to Madam Pomfrey until classes were over?" Harry tried to make peace by moving the conversation along. "He is a bit of a workaholic. I just hope he snaps out of it soon. Some things are meant to be dependable, you know?"

"Makes sense I guess." Ron agreed, offering Hermione a fresh cup of tea.

* * *

Updated May 08, 2006 


	10. Solving One Problem, Gaining Another

10: Solving One Problem, Gaining Another 

Snape didn't snap out of it. Nor was Hermione's 'Potion PMS' episode a lone occurrence. The rumor mill was buzzing with Snape related incidents by the third day of classes. The man was acting so strangely even the other staff members were confused. Professor Flitwick attempted to tell Snape idiotic jokes at lunch, and received a completely civil and polite response. It was a negative response, so he wasn't completely cracked, but it was still quite unusual. This didn't even come close to the level of strangeness exhibited in story a Hufflepuff first year was telling on the lawn just before dinner.

"I don't know what my brother meant when he told me not to cross Professor Snape. Sure, he's a little creepy looking, but he's a really nice guy. I was running late to History class and ran smack into him, knocked myself right back down the three or four steps in front of that painting of a toad. He summoned all my books and things into a stack and apologized for not watching where he was going. Don't look at me that way! It's true I swear!"

Snape wasn't himself at all, and by the end of the week everyone had a theory. Dean held that Snape had fallen in love with Umbrage, and was worried she would never completely recover from the centaur attack. Cho said it was a potions experiment gone wrong. Neville was glad for the improvement, but still thought the whole business was a little fishy. Justin Finch-Fletchly suspected the Dark Lord had Snape under the imperious curse. Ron proudly boasted that Snape was scared that one of Fred and George's portable swamps would appear in his classroom if he didn't turn over a new leaf.

That last theory gave Harry all sorts of ideas, none of them particularly good. On the sixth day back from summer hols Harry tickled the pear and slipped into the kitchens with a stack of paper. He started speaking immediately to fend off any well meant offerings of food.

"I'm not hungry right now, but thank you for asking. I'd like to talk to Dobby." The green-eyed house elf was standing in front of him almost before he was finished speaking.

"It is such a great honor for Mr. Harry Potter Sir to be asking for Dobby! You is such a great wizard. What can Dobby do for Mr. Harry Potter?" Dobby was wearing roughly ten knitted hats, seven scarves, one red sock with yellow stripes and one green sock with purple spots that bounced. A t-shirt turned toga with green feathers falling on a yellow background tied it all together, somehow.

"I have some posters for the D.A. this year, Dobby. I'd like you to put some of them up in the Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw common rooms for me and in other places I can't go, like the girls bathrooms."

"Oh, Dobby will be putting the posters in good places just like Mr. Harry Potter Sir asks him." The hat-hoarding house elf bounced in place.

"One other thing Dobby, some of the Slytherins don't like the idea of the DA, and would take down the posters before the first years or other students could read them. Could you make sure that the sign up sheets and one poster remain untouched until the second or third meeting? Some sort of sticking charm or perhaps an imperturbable spell? People will still have to get to the sign up sheet of course and I wouldn't want to make the whole notice board inaccessible to others . . ."

"Dobby knows! Dobby knows! Dobby will not disappoint Mr. Harry Potter Sir."

Harry beamed as he made his way through the school. The D.A. meeting was scheduled for the first of October; plenty of time to pull together good ways of testing what the other kids knew to sort them into different groups. He'd decided to make three levels: Novice Orientation Defense (N.O.D.) would focus on the bare basics and concentrate on the theory. Rapid Enchantment Defense (R.E.D.) would take middle level students and teach them a long list of useful spells, focusing on rapid fire tactics and endurance. Advanced Interdisciplinary Defense (A.I.D.) would be the real challenge, taking information from every class and tying it all together with respect to defense in chaotic situations.

A.I.D. was going to be tricky, since he planned on being as much a student as a teacher in that section of the club, and pace it just slightly slower than his own progress in the beginning. Harry's thoughts were interrupted by a door being roughly shut at the base of the staircase he had just passed.

"Its little wonder why Snape is acting so strange, if you know what went on this summer." Harry looked over the railing of the staircase to see Malfoy in the center of a group of Slytherins. "He got this beautiful bird for a familiar, a real live Storm Phoenix." Harry spotted an alcove behind one of the castle's suits of armor with a roughly Snape-shaped dark patch at its center.

"No way! They are so rare." Parkinson gasped. "Lovely silver feathers too, there is a painting of one in my Mother's tea room." Zabini cut her off.

"Why haven't we seen it around then? The professor would have kept a familiar like that close by."

"The bird was so disgraced at having such a terrible owner it just flew away one day. Of course I mean no disrespect to our head of house, but he really isn't much to look at is he?" The Slytherins muttered a bit and Malfoy continued. "Father says Snape rarely leaves the dungeons all summer, just spends the whole time brewing potions. What bird would spend all day hanging over a cauldron when it could be flying about in the open air?" The Snape-shadow flinched, and Harry made his move.

"Respect through fear does not inspire lasting loyalty. If it did the lot of you wouldn't be standing around imitating the yearly Gryffindor Snape discussion. We usually hold it in January though, so the first years can join in."

"What do you want, Potty?"

"Do you have something in your ears Malfoy? Or are you too daft to understand what I just said? I merely overheard your conversation on my way to the library and felt the need to comment. Then again, I probably shouldn't have bothered."

"In the future, spare us the displeasure." Malfoy drawled.

"Fine then, I won't tell you what was so horribly wrong with your logic. After all, what do I know about magical birds? It's only been a passion of mine since second year."

"What do you mean?" Zabini asked.

"Ever since Fawkes saved my life in the Chamber of Secrets and I found out that my wand core came from his tail feathers I've been a bit of a bird watcher. It makes sense with how much I love flying to study creatures that can do it naturally, doesn't it? There is a perfectly valid reason why no Storm Phoenix in its right mind would stay with our dearly loathed potions master Severus Snape." Harry spun around on his heel, robe fluttering.

"Wait a minute, you didn't tell us what the reason is!" Parkinson screeched.

"I thought Malfoy said I shouldn't bother? And he insulted me a bit much as well . . . Look it up yourselves." Harry saw the Snape shadow slip away into a trap door as he continued on his way. _Would Snape come up to me and ask? No, He'd rather take the Gryffindor first years on a trip to Honeydukes. Better question: Can a man who thinks Care of Magical Creatures is for squibs and muggleborns figure it out?_

As the days went by Snape got a little better, and Harry got hit with some nasty guilt. He hadn't realized that the man depended on him for his day to day mental health. Reading dark arts and potion books with him wasn't that bad, but it didn't require much interaction. Harry wondered if he could use the time turner to visit the man on Sundays, but wasn't sure how often he could do it before the side effects set in, and he was supposed to be spending the winter in Brazil. He did have bigger problems than upsetting his least-liked teacher and one was a blond ferret-boy looking for trouble.

On September 20th Harry walked up the stairs in the late afternoon, planning on going to bed early and doing his homework in the morning since he had been up late finishing a transfiguration essay the night before. He hadn't been able to sleep past dawn since living as a bird, but that also meant late nights were rare and draining. As he reached the top of the fourth floor staircase (_Why does the entrance to Gryffindor tower have to on the seventh floor?_) someone called his name.

"What?" Harry turned just in time, and a spell shot by his ear. Crabbe and Goyle were directly in front of him, in the process of casting spells. In one fluid motion Harry stunned Crabbe and kicked Goyle in the back of the knee, knocking the large boy down the staircase.

"_Expelliarmus!"_ Draco Malfoy cried out.

"_Protego."_ Harry blocked, and quickly sidestepped a badly aimed bat bogey hex.

"_Impedimenta!"_ Malfoy tried again, and Harry batted the spell aside with another shield.

"_Corpiwasi."_ Harry said with a smile, and Crabbe's body flew over to Malfoy, knocking him to the ground and pinning him there. He laughed a little at the image. "You look like a ferret being sat on by an unconscious rhino. What were you thinking anyway? With the number of times I've faced Voldemort and his Death Eaters and gotten away unharmed you really don't stand much of a chance." He took pity on the struggling blond and offered his hand to help pull him out from under the huge form of Vincent Crabbe.

"I . . . don't . . . need . . ." Malfoy puffed, and Harry realized he couldn't breathe well with all that weight on his thin chest.

"_Mobilicorpus."_ Harry moved Crabbe off Malfoy's chest and onto the struggling boy's lap. "Care to explain why a Slytherin Prefect would attack a Gryffindor student unprovoked? Your wand is over in the corner, by the way, so you can stop searching under Crabbe." Malfoy glared at him, as it was obvious he couldn't get his forearms out from under the bigger boy's body.

"You think your so high and mighty, Potter. Just you wait!" Harry looked into the blonde's eyes and saw the images flickering again. He split his attention between the conversation and the images, watching for clues.

"What exactly am I waiting for? When I was just getting adjusted to life as a wizard Crabbe and Goyle could have knocked me on my arse with little trouble. I've had to dodge a maniac after my blood for the past few years, so my learning curve is a little steeper than average. I'm beyond them now, and you were never confident enough to face anything without their backup. You might be able to beat me, if you could do it without boiling in your own emotions, or you might not." Harry thought he saw something, and went out on a limb. "It must be nice to be you."

"Oh, yes, being pinned under an unconscious person twice my weight is lots of fun." Malfoy drawled. "This is the highlight of my week!" Harry laughed a little at the sarcasm.

"I was talking about your mother. She didn't want you to go very far away to school, sends you sweets and notes practically every day, and probably spoils you rotten at home." Harry shook his head a little bit, but was quick to regain eye contact. "You don't have any idea how lucky you are, and yet you are willing to just throw it all away. Even if Voldemort wins, there is a high probability that your father will be caught again, and if you join in you could loose the Malfoy estate. Of course Voldemort and the Death Eaters could restore everything after the fact, but that's hardly the point or even likely if you screw anything up."

"Stop saying that name! I don't know what you are on about anyway, Potter, it's not like you aren't just as pampered as I am."

"Point of fact I'm not. The Dursleys have a moderate income, and aren't overly fond of wizards. My uncle rather prefers the Spanish Inquisition's ideas of magic, which is unfortunate since my aunt isn't keen on admitting she knows anything about it."

"Liar."

"Do I look like a liar? Oh, wait, I look like my dad so maybe I do. I also look a little like Tom Riddle and Salazar Slytherin. It's the almond shaped green eyes that do it, though there isn't a family relation that I'm aware of." The three boys: one unconscious and two reclining on the floor, sat in silence for a few moments.

"I'm stuck." Malfoy finally admitted. "Get this oaf off me, will you?"

"Alright, but it will cost you."

"What?" The blonde boy glared.

"Just one question and I'll help you. An honest answer and I revive Crabbe. If I think you're lying I'll go get a teacher."

"What's the question?"

"I know your Father is a little crazy. The Light has its sources, and he most certainly did not come out of Azkaban the same way he went in. A life of luxury does not properly prepare one for the harsh conditions in a prison. I also know that wizard high society is laughing at him for doing something so stupid when he could have left it all behind him. With the influence you have it wouldn't have been too hard to stay off Voldemort's radar. My question is: Do you think you can restore your family's honor by imitating the person who lost it?"

"Go get the bloody teacher, I'm not answering."

"He won't have to." The Headmaster said from the bottom of the staircase. "Do I even want to know the details?"

"It was an ambush, purpose unknown. Possibly they wanted to humiliate me. I'm sure the portraits have informed you of the basics." Harry spoke without embarrassment. "Do I want to know how long you've been lurking?"

"Harry, you have to get over this eventually." The Headmaster's grin faltered for a moment. He revived Crabbe with a quick swish of his wand.

"Nope." Harry smiled. "I can carry a grudge if I wish, and I don't feel like putting this one aside just yet. The extra leeway with the D.A. and return of my broom are all well and good, but this is my life we are dealing with. I don't appreciate people fooling around with valuable things like my ability to breathe without my consent." Malfoy looked quickly between the Headmaster and The-Boy-Who-Lived.

The Headmaster looked rather put out, but Harry simply continued on his way up to Gryffindor tower. He yawned deeply halfway up the steps as the adrenaline wore off. _Why do all the floors have to have fourteen to twenty foot ceilings?_

Harry woke up at dawn the next morning, but wished he could go back to sleep. Even with the thick curtains drawn around his bed and multiple silencing charms in place the morning sun and forest sounds seemed to get to him. He took a long steamy shower and slowly prepared for the day, but he was still the first one in the common room on the bright Saturday. It was the first Hogsmeade weekend so many students would be up early, but it was barely seven when Harry walked toward the Great Hall. Most of the castle was just waking up.

Of course most did not mean all, and a particularly irate looking potion master was sitting in one of the courtyards with a small stack of books. _He can't be waiting for Imber, can he? No one else is awake. I could probably help him look through the books before anyone noticed I was gone, but how would a bird in Brazil know that his friend in Scotland needs help?_ _I read all about it in the library, so he should be able to find the answers in a few weekends worth of reading. Maybe if I offered as Harry he'd let me help, or hex me into next Tuesday._ Well, Gryffindors are supposed to be brave.

"Professor Snape, could I have a moment?" Harry tried his best to be respectful. He didn't want the unspoken truce to crumble because he couldn't keep his temper in check.

"What are you doing up at this hour on a Saturday? Shouldn't you be sleeping the day away with the rest of your house?" Snape's usual irritable mask was up again, a good sign. As Imber, Harry had learned to read the snarling man a little. He would never have noticed the genuine surprise hiding behind the comments otherwise.

"I heard a rumor recently that you befriended a Storm Phoenix this summer. I'm a bit of a bird enthusiast because of what Fawkes did for me in second year. I was wondering if you could tell me about him or her."

"Get out of my sight, Potter. I don't have time to answer your inane questions just after dawn."

"It's just that I heard someone saying he left on bad terms after a month of friendly cohabitation, and it strikes me as odd. Those birds either love you or hate you and they don't change their minds lightly. Unless something drastic happened, he would have left at the end of August without any problems." That got Snape's attention.

"What on earth are you babbling about? Sometimes I cannot fathom your ineptitude. Avian familiars do not leave at appointed times, they get lost." Aha! Snape thought Imber tried to fly somewhere and got lost on the return trip. The potions master turned back to the book in his lap.

"Begging your pardon, Sir, but yes they do. It's quite common with migratory birds." Snape rounded on Harry again, obviously torn between getting information about where his bird went and insulting his least liked student.

"Did you say migratory?" Snape ground out between clenched teeth. He really ought to use a whitening potion on them.

"Yes, Sir, I did. Dark Phoenixes don't handle cold weather as well as their red and gold counterparts. Any bird with an ounce of sense would be in Brazil somewhere by now. It's all right here in this book." Harry pulled the second book from the bottom out of the pile and flipped about three-quarters through it to the proper section. He continued talking as he looked for the proper page. "They have a much lower base body temperature, though it rises when they use a great deal of magic. This means ice can form on their feathers when they are in a snow storm they are not currently controlling, or when they take a break. They don't keep as much adipose tissue on their bodies either, though the feathers do offer some insulation from the cold." Snape's eyes clouded just briefly when Harry mentioned 'adipose tissue.' Clearly the man had a diverse vocabulary, but that particular biological term was beyond him. Harry supposed he could have just said fat, but Snape did the same to him when he answered potions questions.

"If he was as young as rumor has it, your phoenix would have run scared at the first sign of fall. They get better at dealing with cold temperatures with age, but the first instinct is still migration. Here it is. The book you have on your lap is useless. It only has mating habits in it, and most of that research ranges from shoddy to outright guessing." Harry moved the bookmark from the text in Snape's lap to the section he found on migratory magical birds.

"If you put half this effort into your potions studies you might have better marks."

"I'll take that as the veiled compliment it is. One last thing and I'll leave so you can look up the word 'adipose' in peace. I wish to thank you for being more civil to me. I know it might simply be that you have been very distracted this month, but it is appreciated." _Oops, I overstepped the line._ Apparently Snape didn't like being called on the carpet for not knowing what Harry was talking about.

"Insolent little brat!" Snape roared. Harry was glad he was a morning person. "Five points for disrespecting a professor!" Harry nodded, smiled just slightly, and left. He could speak Snape, if only just the basics of it. _My sense of humor is underappreciated. At least Snape is back to normal._

Breakfast was quick and Harry was just finishing the last of his pancakes when the room started to fill up. When Harry saw Neville walk in he waved him over.

"Oi Neville, how are you doing in classes this year?"

"Alright, I guess. Transfiguration just keeps getting more complicated, and Professor Dupont's accent is near impossible to understand sometimes. The D.A. put us way ahead of the other students, though, so I shouldn't have to worry about it much."

"I'm going to start up the D.A. again this year." Harry said, pouring himself a second cup of tea.

"I know, I saw the posters in the common room." Neville tucked in to some bangers and mash.

"I'm not doing as well in Herbology as my other classes this year. I always got decent grades, but since our classes are more intense this year I'm having a hard time keeping up. I was wondering if we could make a trade. You help me with Herbology, and I'll help you with whatever you're falling behind in. What do you say?"

"Sounds fair to me, but you have more classes than I do and with Quidditch and D.A. I don't see how you'll have the time." Neville was always at his best in the mornings.

"Time is relative. I've taken an oath to ignore distractions this year, and I think I took care of the ferret problem last night." Neville looked at Harry a moment.

"I'm always the last to know. What happened?"

Harry smiled and told Neville about the duel he had with Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle the night before. He only glanced over their conversation and left out the odd images in Malfoy's eyes. Harry was almost certain the images had to do with the extra spell put on his glasses. It was a great deal like Legilimency, but without the incantation that would alert someone of the attack. In fact Harry would put money that that was exactly what happened, and silently vowed to thank the optometrist profusely if he saw her again.

"What is Neville laughing about?" Hermione broke into Harry's thoughts. Ron sat down beside her at the table, obviously still half asleep.

"Well, for once he is the first to know about a duel between our resident ferret and myself." Harry found himself re-telling the abridged version of the story three times that morning before letting the rumor mill have at it.

* * *

Updated May 08, 2006 


	11. Defence Association

11: Defense Association 

October the first came up much faster the Harry would have liked. Professor Dupont was still borderline indecipherable, and many students had rallied together to compare notes and double-check facts. Harry didn't have too much trouble getting through Amir Dupont's thick Middle-Eastern accent, most likely due to his advanced knowledge of defense, but every once in a while something threw him.

Neville was great at explaining the details of Herbology, and Harry's grades soon matched his. This seemed to bug Hermione, since Harry was top of the class in Transfiguration, Defense, and Potions as well. He had tested into standard History class, but his average didn't get too far above an 'A.' Hermione was unshakable in the top spot for Charms, even if Harry had jumped up a few slots.

Herbology class was an adventure in and of itself. Malfoy seemed to be nursing his wounded pride for a while, but the tension between them didn't lessen. Harry continued to spot images in Malfoy's eyes whenever they looked at each other, and it painted an interesting picture of Malfoy's home life. His Father would spoil him rotten and spew anti-muggle politics, and then his Mother would step in and insert the realities of life. She still spoiled him, but she was practical. Harry thought he could get to like the woman if given the chance. Narcissa had a hard time standing up to Lucius, and it made Harry wonder if Draco would have been better off if his Mother had Molly Weasley's iron will.

Harry saw things in other people's eyes as well, and he took note of them, but they weren't as important at the moment. It didn't matter if Blaze Zabini thought he looked good in tight pink underclothes, or that a Hufflepuff named Branstone visited Italy last summer. It might be a little amusing, but not nearly as important as messing with Malfoy. The other Slytherins looked to him as a type of leader, and if he switched sides many others would start asking hard questions or defer to his leadership.

The day crept by. As he sat down to an early dinner a plate full of parchment popped into existence in front of him. The four sign-up sheets that had hung in the house common rooms were a bit messy, but even Slytherin had a decent number of students. True, most of them were in lower years, but it was still good to see that there was some interest.

He hurried up to the room of requirement and passed through the hallway three times. When the door appeared he propped it open and took a good look at what the room provided him. A chalkboard hung on the left wall, framed by diagrams of proper dueling poses. Comfortable chairs were at tables facing it. In the back left corner was his desk, large with plenty of drawers for supplies. The back wall had book shelves to the left, packed with all kinds of advanced texts. The large windows covered the top of the wall, filling the room with light. The right side of the back wall had a line of targets, with distances marked off on the floor. The right wall was bare in the corner with the targets, but had weapons and magical instruments on shelves in the near corner. The front wall, which Harry had to turn around to see, had charts of common dueling spells near the chalkboard area. The Hogwarts crest hung over the door in the center, and the other corner had more weapons and miscellaneous items. The center of the large room had a long dueling platform with distances and starting positions marked off. A rope went around the platform to keep everyone held back a meter from the edge.

Harry pulled out a piece of charmed parchment and pinned it up next to the spell chart. It would record the scores of the people trying to get into the higher level classes. Then he walked over to the chalkboard and started writing out the scoring system he'd charmed into the parchment.

He was just finishing when the other students started filtering in. Some wary Hufflepuff first and second years hovered around a group of desks in the corner near the diagrams. A few older Ravenclaws were looking at the magical instruments in the corner. All the Slytherins who had signed up were as far away from everyone as they could get: standing in front of the targets.

_I'll need to mix things up a bit._ Harry thought, and the squashy brown chairs suddenly started changing colors. _Oh, that's cruel. It is a perfect solution to the problem, but a bit nasty. Perhaps I've spent too much time with Snape this summer._

"Alright," Harry called out when it looked like everyone who was coming had arrived. "I'd like to get started." Harry realized he would never be heard over his peers' gossiping. On cue, he found the whistle from last year on his desk. A shrill burst quickly shut everyone up. "Now that I have your attention, I would like to get started. The chairs are color coded. Slytherins find a green chair, Ravenclaws in blue, Hufflepuffs in yellow and Gryffindors in Red. I want no exceptions." There was plenty of grumbling and odd looks, but they settled in.

Harry was just about to start explaining the odd setup when Draco Malfoy, Blaze Zabini, Millicent Bulstrode, Vincent Crabbe, Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle, and a group of Slytherins Harry wasn't familiar with walked through the door. Green chairs sprung up to accommodate them, shifting those on either side with a gentle push.

"Malfoy, Parkinson, I didn't see your names on the sign up sheet. Well, find a green chair. We were just about to get started." They looked at him a little uncertainly, as if waiting for the nasty comment and the boot out the door that wasn't going to come.

"No smart comments today Potter?" Malfoy drawled.

"The club is open to all years of all houses, but will be divided into three groups based on skill level. You have as much right as anyone to be here as long as you follow the rules approved by the Headmaster and four heads of house. You can see professor Snape's signature on the form if you like." Malfoy paused a moment, caught in his own intentions. Harry was proud of himself for thinking of getting that approval, even though it wasn't strictly necessary. It just gave the rules some authority and allowed him to send a form to the head of house of the troublemaker in question for infractions that would result in points being taken or detentions assigned. It also meant that the rules were fair enough that even Snape could find no fault. He could see the gears turning, and finally the blond took the last seat available: a neon green beanbag next to Ginny Weasley. With a wave of his wand Harry shut the door.

"Alright, today I will be breaking you into three groups. The Defense Association is geared to building up your ability to defend yourself against attacks made by other sentient living things. That means wizards, witches, centaurs, Dementors, werewolves, vampires, and other intelligent beings that may attempt to attack you. There are other things out there that can hurt you: magical objects, poisons, magical creatures, nonmagical animals, wards, traps, and broom malfunctions. Heck, people have died by falling down in the shower; however, hexing bars of slippery soap isn't my specialty." Someone in the back mumbled just loud enough to be heard.

"No, your specialty is hexing Slytherins."

"I'm afraid that isn't correct either. I am gifted at dueling, and choose to duel against Death Eaters. I happen to know at least one Death Eater who was a Gryffindor, and have no moral trouble blasting him into next week if given the chance. May I continue?" After a moment of silence Harry continued. "Novice Orientation Defense or N.O.D. is for the lower years. It will cover the basics of dueling as well as complement what you are learning in class. It concentrates on the purpose and theories of defense, with practical exercises that you do not have time for in class. If you can't duel, you might get stuck there for a while even if you are in a higher class. The point of this level is to prepare you enough that you can defend yourself and evade a stronger or more talented opponent." The younger students looked egger, though the older ones were a little concerned when he mentioned holding some people back.

"The second level is Rapid Enchantment Defense or R.E.D. This middle level will concentrate on increasing your repertoire of spells. You will learn long lists of new spells as well as the techniques required to fire them off with speed. Endurance is a big part of dueling. While N.O.D. will teach accuracy, R.E.D. will be casting spells as quickly as possible for as long as possible. Accuracy is still an issue, and will be taken into account, but the truly dangerous duelers are the ones who can go on for hours at a moderate pace without tiring." A shiver went through the younger students at the cold steel in Harry's voice. It was obvious to everyone he was speaking from experience.

Once Fudge officially acknowledged Voldemort's return, mostly accurate accounts of Harry's adventures over the past five years had been published in virtually every newspaper and magazine. Some were a little exaggerated, but never crossed the line into fiction. Harry hypothesized that the Order of the Phoenix had taken a very active role in seeing that the bare-faced truth was accessible.

"The highest level is Advanced Interdisciplinary Defense or A.I.D. This group will meet with R.E.D., but will also meet separately. Those of you who reach this level will be pulling knowledge from all of your classes. You will throw vials of potion, transfigure sticks into knives, work with dangerous plants, charm objects during a duel, and even learn to throw a punch and a hex in opposite directions simultaneously. You will learn to fight in chaos, using that chaos as a weapon. I won't play around with you: A.I.D. will teach you how to fight a war. In case you haven't noticed, Voldemort is back with a vengeance." A shudder went through the room at hearing the name. "He does not play patty-cake, and neither do his Death Eaters. Even if you choose no side in this war, A.I.D. will allow you to defend your home in the unfortunate event that such action is required." Cold fear seeped into the room as Harry's friendly disposition was replaced with the hard temperament of someone who has seen too much evil in one lifetime.

"This isn't a game, and within this room I don't care who you support politically. House rivalries do not exist while you are here, and will not be tolerated. I can and will have you kicked out for acting like a fool in the higher levels, on the combined authority of the Headmaster and Heads of House. You are here to learn how to survive the coming storm, regardless of which side of the fence you are standing on." Harry let that sink in for a moment. When he had their attention again he continued.

"If I have anything to say about it, you will be ready when the time comes for you to protect your own rear ends. Now, on the board is a list of point values. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, Ginny, and I are already in R.E.D. Everyone else will come up one at a time and duel one of us." The four Gryffindors looked a little shocked, but Luna just looked on with a more pointed than usual dreamy stare. Harry had mentioned he wanted them to duel some of the students to sort them into groups by skill, and they had agreed without asking for enough details. "They have gone up against Death Eaters and walked away relatively unscathed, a truly amazing feat for fourth and fifth year students. Seventh years will go first, followed by sixth years and on down so that the first years get to duel our 'defenders' when they are tired and ready to quit. While no second year or lower will get into R.E.D. before Christmas if at all, I still want to have scores for you. The large parchment near the door will magically keep score, and you will sign your name next to the number when I record it in my record book on the desk. The defender will always face the door, so the attacker will not know what score they have. Don't think about the numbers, just duel."

For the first round of duels one hundred points was given for disarming the defender, ten for hitting the defender with any spell, and five for blocking a spell. Two points were taken for getting hit, twenty for being disarmed, and forty for getting off the platform for any reason. The second round would be held later. It only included those who got into R.E.D. and had would have two defenders. Only twenty points were awarded for disarming one of them. Two points were given for each unique spell cast and one for each spell dodged.

There was much shifting around and setting up before Hermione stepped up to the defender's position. The seventh year Ravenclaw that faced her was clumsy, but good enough with a wand. He was knocked off the platform twice, but managed to come out ahead by disarming Hermione and blocking all but one of the spells aimed at him. Harry stepped up next, this time getting a more nimble Hufflepuff. Harry was followed by Ron, then Ginny, and Luna before Hermione stepped up again. When Malfoy stepped up to the platform Harry broke the pattern and refused to duel him, sending Luna up instead.

"Scared, Potter?"

"You said that same line back in second year. You really need some new material. I kicked your arse just a few days ago. I think it would be best if you didn't have a house rivalry clouding your eyes and impairing your performance. Blast Luna into next week and you can face me in round two when you try to get into A.I.D." Harry saw a flash of Narcissa Malfoy standing over Draco, forcing him to study a book of curses. "Why do I get the feeling you're in for it, Luna?" Harry mumbled.

"I have no idea," Luna answered loudly, "Although it is a strange way to put in a vote of confidence."

Fifteen minutes later Luna and Malfoy were still dueling. Finally Malfoy pulled an immensely underhanded trick. He knocked Luna off the platform with a shockwave spell normally used to repel potion spills. Then he quickly hexed her with Immobulus and Expelliarmus while she was down. A group of Ravenclaws came to Luna's aid and the room burst into loud shouts about dueling protocol and hitting girls when they are down. Harry jumped up on the platform and started clapping. The Gryffindors were struck dumb, and the chatter died down as Harry Potter applauded Draco Malfoy.

"That is exactly the sort of thing I want to see all of you do. The spell Malfoy used, for those of you who didn't have potions class with Neville, is often used by Professor Snape. It is intended to be used to repel a spilled potion when something goes horribly, horribly wrong and the mixture is too unstable to be magically cleaned up. It counts as a physical attack, since the magic acts on the air in a cone about twenty five to thirty centimeters from the wand tip and nothing else. As Malfoy demonstrated the shockwave can be quite powerful when it needs to be. He used a spell out of context, which is the whole point of A.I.D. Even without his high score, I would promote him to R.E.D. level based on that alone. I believe Mr. Goyle is next, so let's keep things moving!"

It took a little over three hours to test everyone, and not everyone was happy with the results. By the time fourth years were up the students were trying desperately to avoid dueling Harry. The average score was twenty points lower for anyone dueling him compared to the other defenders. The last one up was a first year Slytherin. Harry hadn't dueled any of the first or second years yet, so he jumped up before a slightly sleepy Ron could make his move. The little girl started visibly shaking. Many older students had left when the third years had finished, since the duels weren't interesting anymore.

"What is your name?" Harry asked after he aimed a stunner over her head.

"Samantha Circula." The girl cringed. Harry shot a tickling charm to the left of her foot. The girl had strait black hair, hazel eyes, and was easily the shortest in the school. Harry had caught her eye a few times, and didn't like what he saw. It reminded him of his Uncle Vernon after one too many beers.

"Miss Circula, why are you shaking?" She jumped to the side of the hex, even though it wouldn't have hit her.

"Y-You are better than I am. I hardly know any-anything and you're one of the best duelers here." She flinched away from a jelly legs curse that was aimed a full meter to her right.

"One out of three, I'm afraid. Professors Snape and Dumbledore could toss me around like a rag doll if they wanted to, so I am far from a champion dueler. I am a student, the same as you are, so I am not better than you in any intrinsic way that I can pinpoint. You are one month into your first year and I am in sixth, so I do know more spells than you. Do you know any spells?"

"Y-Yes." She seemed close to tears.

"Then you should try to hit me. Even if you aren't sure it will work, it will cause me to react. A failed spell is sometimes more dangerous than a properly cast one. Failing to turn my shirt into a straitjacket could seriously hurt me if it caught on fire instead." Harry erected a shield in front of him and waited. "I am a defender, Miss Circula, and that makes you the attacker, whenever you are ready."

"Er . . ." Samantha raised her wand and stopped cringing. Malfoy was looking back and forth between the two of them in obvious confusion. She stuttered out a color-changing spell that wavered and drifted out across the platform. Harry dropped the shield and conjured a little Harry doll – complete with scar and Gryffindor robes – and levitated it into the path of the sluggish spell. The doll turned bright fuchsia and sent out sparks when the yellowish spell enveloped it. Suddenly the clothes shrunk on the doll, turning into a tight fitting mini-robe, a wizard take on the Muggle miniskirt idea that was common with rebellious pureblood girls. Laughter rippled through the room.

"Well, that would have me guessing for a moment. I'm not sure my reputation could handle being seen in a skimpy hot pink outfit. You realize that while I'm sorting out my pride you could chuck something at my head, like a rock or a chair." Samantha looked around, but there was nothing of the sort on the platform. Harry threw the mini-Harry into the fireplace by his desk. "Best that we burn that outfit, lest anyone get ideas."

Harry turned away, feigning deep thought, and Samantha cut loose with bluebell flames. Harry shot a jet of water out of his wand, dousing the flames before they reached him.

"You do much better when I'm not paying attention, I see. Quite Slytherin of you; and that is certainly a compliment." She shot out the simple flames again, and Harry blocked them by drawing up a small bronze shield. It wasn't nearly as thick or wide as the one Voldemort had conjured up in the Ministry annex, but it was his first shot at that particular spell.

"I'm surprised that worked, I wasn't sure I heard the incantation correctly when the headmaster was dueling He-Whose-Name-Must-Be-Hyphenated." Harry tried to make the girl giggle, but it didn't work. He'd adopted silly nicknames for Voldemort after a few Hufflepuffs tossed aside their pride and begged him to stop saying the name.

"You've never cast that spell before?" Samantha asked, disbelieving.

"No, but I don't normally get spells right the first time. It's just that I was paying close attention to the people trying to murder me that night, so I learned some spells from them. There is one, I don't even know the name for it, that I still can't cast but I can recognize instantly. It doesn't have an incantation, so it's probably driven by willpower and intent. Spells like those are a little harder to master." The gears were turning all right. Flashes of memories from the other duels whipped by behind her eyes as she looked up at Harry. Once again Harry turned away, this time looking at the other first and second years. They looked quite embarrassed, as if they had walked to class in their knickers. They had just watched repeated demonstrations of how to cast various spells and none of them had realized they could be memorizing things to use when it was their turn. After a moment the Ravenclaws were looking murderous and scribbling down notes on whatever paper they could find.

"Impedimenta!" She shouted with all the confidence she could manage. Harry let the spell hit. It wasn't very powerful, so he only slowed down a little bit.

"Corpiwasi." Harry countered, pulling her bodily to the floor to the right of the platform. Then he reversed the spell on himself as she got to her feet. "Did I ever say you had to get back up onto the platform if you were knocked down?"

"No." Miss Circula answered.

"Then why risk losing another forty points by climbing back up? It also puts you in a compromising position because you are short enough to need to use your hands to climb back up, and I can hex you while your focus is away from me." Again, there was a murmur from the remaining students, and even Malfoy looked like he should have thought of that one, since he had been knocked off once. "Thinking like a Slytherin is a great advantage during a duel. It might not be a great way to go about making friends, but you can certainly hex someone's arse end with little difficulty, Expelliarmus." Harry ended the duel and walked over to his desk.

"Samantha Circula, please sign here next to your score. Now, I'd like to thank those of you who stayed to watch the last of the duels. I hope I gave you something to think about. The D.A. posters hanging in your common rooms are magically tied to a paperclip in my record book. They will update themselves to show who is in N.O.D. and who is in R.E.D. in a day or two when I've finished calculating the averages. Since I've never used this point system before I have to figure out where the cut-off will be. I have my own notes, with statistics for each of you. I have about twenty feet of enchanted scrolls here that took down statistical information for me, and I'll have to sort through it all." Harry sighed at the massive amount of paperwork. He was seriously considering locking himself in a remote corner of the castle for a day and using his time turner so he wouldn't be missed.

"Well, no one ever said being fair was easy." Harry scratched the back of his neck. "I can't say I didn't do it to myself either. I even have to factor in grade point averages for D.A.D.A., Potions, Charms, and Transfiguration. Go on to bed, there's about fifteen minutes left until curfew and I don't want to take the fall for Snape or Filch catching all of us out of bounds, certainly not since Snape went back to normal, anyways."


	12. Quidditch and Truce

**12: Quidditch and Truce**

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table Saturday morning working through some of the statistics while his housemates ate breakfast. He had just decided on the adjustments he would use for each defender when two owls landed in front of him. One carried a box with a Gringotts seal and the other had a letter addressed in Remus' familiar script.

Since he knew what was in the Gringotts letter Harry tore into the one from Remus.  
Dear Harry,  
It's taken me quite a bit longer than it should have to come to terms with your display last summer. I think I'm beginning to understand what you mean about the Order's opinion of you, and why you had to do what you did. There are a few things I'm not ready to face yet, and your growing up is one of them. I would do a lot of things differently throughout my life if given the chance, but the one thing I regret most is missing out on your childhood. I should have visited you from time to time, but I was quite convinced you were better off oblivious to the pressures fame would bring you.  
At six or seven years old I had a right to want to protect you from that, and it was right of me to agree with Dumbledore's argument, but I could have acted like a muggle until you were ready to learn the truth. I realize that I missed out on the opportunity to, at least partially, fill the void left behind when James died. Sirius saw the need at once, and I should have listened to him more where you were concerned. Now you are too old to need a parent around all the time, and I'm the one that isn't ready to move on.  
You have a talent with people, Harry. I never noticed how much until that Order meeting. You are a born leader, capable of getting your point across and speaking from the heart very effectively. I'm sure you rehearsed what you were going to say to some extent, but I severely doubt much of that was practiced verbatim. You showed in the DA that you can explain things to others, and I hear that you are quite flexible. I did a little digging and found out that no one in the DA got less than an 'A' in Transfiguration, Defense, or Charms examinations. Perhaps you should think of becoming a teacher once the war is over.  
I'm sure James, Lilly, and Sirius would all be proud of you today. I don't know the contents of the prophesy, but I have a vague idea and believe you can do your part.  
Sincerely,  
Remus J. Lupin

Harry Re-read the letter a few times, unsure of how he should react. Remus seemed honesty ashamed that he didn't get to know Harry better before they became teacher and student. Remus also seemed to regret that he didn't notice a few key aspects of Harry's life that he should have noticed given what he was helping Harry with. Perhaps he should feel glad that Remus, at least, was on his side? The suggestion that he go into teaching seemed to come out of the blue; Harry had never considered any career other than Auror, and how could he do anything else? He was expected to become an Auror, his whole life was leading him that way. Sure, the D.A. was fun and his classmates did pick up a lot from him, but how could he fit teaching into being the Boy-Who-Lived? He couldn't abandon the responsibility he had just begun to accept, and teaching was sufficiently public to turn him off.

"Hey Harry, all ready for the Quidditch match today?" Dean asked.

"I am, but I don't know about the rest of the team. Ginny's a great chaser, but Sherry is only a second year. Danny's almost as fast as Ginny, so Sherry gets left backfield sometimes. Her monster throwing arm makes up for it. At least we go up against Hufflepuff in the first match. I hate to say it but it looks like Slytherin for the cup this year," Harry sighed. "No cheating necessary."

"Maybe not," Hermione argued while trying to force some bangers on Harry, "Malfoy bought his way onto the team, and he's never been that good at Quidditch. I mean, he can play seeker, but that's all he can do. He hardly ever does anything to help the other players on the team purposefully, so he can't be a good captain. He just goes after the other seeker the whole game." Harry pushed the bangers aside a final time and went back to his statistics.

"Hermione's got a point." Neville smiled. "We've got a much better captain than Slytherin." Ron, who had been chewing on the same bit of egg throughout their conversation and staring into the middle distance, suddenly looked over at them.

"I'm doing my best, but a flobberworm could be a better captain than Malfoy!" Ron smiled, "You won't catch me being soft on that account, though, Ravenclaw's a real threat this year!"

* * *

It was wonderful to be on a broom. One of the things Harry really missed about being Imber was being able to fly anytime he wanted. He found out last month that all the flying he had done had toned and built his back and shoulder muscles. Dean had seen him pull off his shirt one night and asked him if he spent all summer working out, and the five-way pillow fight that erupted from his evasive answers proved to him that flying was great exercise. 

His legs were in good shape as well, but not very much better than any other year. Running up and down the stairs in the Shrieking Shack made sure he still had his speed and possibly increased his stamina, but his legs were much more toned than built. It was probably from hanging sideways off rafters to see inside cauldrons. He was still skinny all around, and no one would mistake him for a body builder any time soon, but he wasn't as frail looking as he used to be. The new clothes certainly accented that fact, making the small changes seem much more obvious. The baggy clothes he used to wear would have covered it all up and no one including Harry would have noticed the difference.

Harry looked around him as the team lined up to go out on the field. Fred and George stood up front with Ron, trying to get their little brother and captain to calm down. Sherry D'Lay, the youngest on the team, and Danny Bryant, a third year, stood on either side of Ginny as this year's chasers. Harry was last, and their last line of hope to win the game. Ron's game strategy for their first game was simple and encouraging:

"We're a new team, and we will make mistakes. You will misjudge each others abilities, lose the quaffle, and have close calls with bludgers. Just do your best and remember what we went through at practice. Hufflepuff has problems to deal with too. I'll keep them from scoring too often, and Harry can get the snitch in a hurry if that's what we need. Fred and George can keep the Hufflepuff chasers off balance as much as they can. Relax, if you mess up keep going, and we can win this game."

Then again, he had been pacing and running his hands through his hair hard enough to pull some out, so it didn't come across as comforting as it was intended too. Ron really wanted the house cup; it showed every time he talked about Quidditch. The doors opened to a beautiful fall day and the game began.

As Harry swooped and turned around the pitch, he could see just how much the Hufflepuff team was suffering because of their new players. It soothed his fears about loosing the cup a little, but the Slytherin team had only a few replacements this year. Neither team on the field seemed to be able to hold onto the Quaffle for long as all the chasers were green. Harry had never seen so many botched passes and fumbled catches in such a short period of time. Fred and George were in top form, and Ron had the goals covered tighter than a Tupperware lid. Every once in a while one got by him, but Harry couldn't blame him. When a botched pass bounced off a Hufflepuff beater's head and through the goal post no one was at fault. All in all, there were fewer mistakes on the Gryffindor side.

"Another well-aimed toss by Gryffindor chaser Weasley makes the score 130 to 30 with Gryffindor in the lead. The Hufflepuff team is clearly suffering an infestation of Hinkypinks. The captain really should have wrapped her broom handle with tin foil if she wanted to avoid this kind of disaster," Luna deadpanned. The highly distracted monologue had gotten a little more focused with Prof. McGonagall's constant reminders, but was still amusing.

Harry caught sight of a glint of gold and dove down to the sand beneath the Gryffindor goalposts. The Hufflepuff seeker, way on the other side of the pitch, never had a chance as Harry swooped down to secure the landslide win.

* * *

An hour later Harry sat in an armchair in a corner of the common room, reviewing the game. The Hufflepuff team shot at the goal posts twenty-seven times in the thirty-six minute game, but only scored three times. Sherry stopped chasing the Quaffle past midfield after five minutes and stayed near the Hufflepuff goal, using her dead-on accuracy to score seven of the ten shots she attempted. All together the score was 30-280 for Gryffindor. The common room was a mad house. 

It seemed like half the stock from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and Honeydukes had been brought into the common room just for the occasion. Fireworks blazed, all kinds of sweets were out on the tables, and music was playing on a wizard version of a CD player. Harry was one of few who went down to the Great Hall for lunch, where it was quieter and saner, but was quickly dragged back up to the tower.

At his short lunch he had discovered a something he hadn't tried before. The house-elves seemed to have noticed that he wasn't eating any chicken, eggs, pork, or beef and stopped putting those things directly in front of his usual chair about a week ago, but this was the first time something that wasn't a fish was offered to him in place of meat. Before being forced bodily up the stairs again he grabbed two white bangers and a salad with fruit and nuts in it. When the guys had seen the white bangers they doubted his sanity, but they weren't half bad. Hermione said it was probably a mix of tofu, beans, and nuts mashed up and cooked to look like bangers. Harry replied that he didn't care, and would appreciate not having his food played with by over-inquisitive witches before he ate it.

At dinner in the Great Hall, where Gryffindor tower was forcibly sent so the house elves could have some time to clean up, there was more fake meat for Harry to eat. Pretty much the entire Gryffindor table looked away as Harry tucked in. Professor McGonagall came up just as he began and handed Harry a note.

"The Headmaster would like to see you in his office when you've finished . . . Mr. Potter what in heaven's name are you _eating_?" Harry had unfolded the note as his head of house spoke, and saw that the password to Dumbledore's office was written inside.

"It's a salad, Professor."

"I can see that Mr. Potter, but what is in it?" A few people from other tables looked over at the distressed question.

"It has tofu, nuts, apples, mozzarella, cinnamon, peaches, lettuce, and sprouts in it." McGonagall looked down her nose at him with an expression that clearly said she wouldn't eat it.

"So long as you are aware . . . You are expected in the Headmasters office."

"Yes, Professor McGonagall." As his head of house walked away Neville looked over at Harry's plate.

"You know, it does look a bit like someone threw up sour milk into a bowl of leftovers."

"It's made from beans." Harry rolled his eyes and kept eating.

"Really? What kind?" Neville asked, and Harry focused of Neville's genuine curiosity rather than everyone else's skepticism.

* * *

After dinner, Harry walked into the Headmaster's office and sat in the violently plaid chair he was offered. After refusing the half-hearted offer for some tea, they got right down to business. 

"Now, I know you haven't been happy with me recently, Harry, but I think we can both agree that what I do is, all things considered, what is best for us all. I also know that Professor Snape terminated your Occlumency lessons while angered to the point of violence. What precisely happened, he has not told me, nor do I think he will. You need to be properly trained in Occlumency; the events of last year clearly show the inherent dangers."

"You want me to study Occlumency with you, Headmaster?"

"No, Harry. I'm an old man well-steeped in light magic. I couldn't begin to mimic Voldemort's style of attack, due in no small part to the fact that I don't know what one is like. It is much more than Voldemort getting into my mind through you, you see. I couldn't teach you to defend from Voldemort's particular style because it is so different from my own. I'm sure Professor Snape explained the importance of personality in Occlumency, so I won't bore you, but . . ."

"No, he didn't," Harry interrupted.

"Come again?" The Headmaster leaned forward in his seat, clearly startled.

"Professor Snape never explained the importance of personality, style, or mental state in his lessons. I obtained a few books on the subject last summer, and they were much more helpful than Snape's sessions. I don't think he was teaching me much of anything professor, and stand by what I said at the end of August. On some level he wanted to see me fail."

"Well, I'm sure Severus had his reasons. Time has been a pressing issue from the moment I realized what was happening, and Professor Snape was well aware of that. Perhaps he thought you would pick it up quicker if he cut out some of the more long winded explanations." The Headmaster fiddled with his tea set, and Harry got the distinct impression that the older man was more disturbed by Harry's statements than he let on. "What I called you hear for, Harry, was to re-start your Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape. I'll be honest with you, he wasn't happy about it, but he is willing to try again if you are willing to respect his position as your professor."

Harry remained silent for a time, conflicting images of Severus Snape running through his mind. There was the Professor who made his life miserable any way he could for five years, the lonely man who sat quietly watching a fire with his pet bird during a rainstorm, and the dedicated order member full of remorse for his failures. It wasn't hard to respect the man now that he fully understood what he did for the Order, but whenever Snape flung insults at him that understanding seemed to vanish.

"Headmaster, I will accept his terms with one change: I will respect him as my better only so long as he shows similar respect for me. There isn't an audience, so there is no reason for his little show of dominance." The Headmaster nodded his approval immediately.

"It has become clear to me that I have let Severus have a bit too much leeway. We couldn't let Voldemort think Professor Snape was in any way fond of you, and as the stakes were raised he increased his efforts, but there have to be limits. I will talk to him, but I also expect you to be in his office on November first after the last class bell."

"Alright Headmaster, I'll be there." Harry stood and left immediately, planning his next move in their game of chess.

* * *

A/N: Edited and revised June 7, 2007. 


	13. Malfoy Issues

13: Malfoy Issues

Harry woke up to a brilliant sunrise. There were a few puffy clouds in the sky, but it looked like a perfect day. Crisp October air greeted him as he walked across the open courtyards, and Harry could think of nothing better than lifting his wings to the breeze and flying away. With the time-turner he could fly for three days away and three days back without being missed, or use it twice and fly for a week each way.

Harry shook the thoughts away and headed to the Great Hall for breakfast. His mind had been wandering like that quite often, and wondered if it had anything to do with his Animagus form. He hadn't had the time to read more about being an Animagus than what he remembered from third year, but he had the distinct impression that something was up. The temptation of the time turner was a constant, but he couldn't over do it or he would be found out. There was a room on the fifth floor that was listed on the Marauder's Map, but he had never seen anyone go in. It might have been a potions classroom at one time, because the only window was right at the ceiling and there was a large drain in the center of the floor. The ceiling was a good ten meters tall, excellent for keeping fumes well above anyone working on a potion, but the long window was too high to provide working light on its own.

It would also make an excellent aviary. Harry set up some simple wards after giving it a good once-over and waited to see if anyone would notice them. The secluded annex it was connected to seemed deserted enough, but one of the teachers might notice the wards and wonder. He was also careful to avoid being seen by portraits as he walked to and from the bare annex. There were no paintings of anything in the annex itself or the empty room so that wasn't an issue. If no one had bothered the wards yet it was doubtful they had been noticed.

Harry didn't wait for his dorm mates to get down to breakfast, intent on setting himself up in the abandoned classroom. He went back up to his dorm and packed his bottomless bag with the Gringotts box, all his transfiguration and DADA books, a few books he took out of the library, his homework, and anything else he could occupy himself with for a day of intense study. It was barely seven o'clock when Harry disappeared under his invisibility cloak and fled to his little hideaway.

When Harry opened the door to the gloomy room he did a double take. There was himself, packing all his things into a second bottomless bag. The other him smiled and disappeared under his invisibility cloak.

"Have fun, I'll take care of the outside world." Harry heard himself say before the door closed.

_Well, that was odd._ Harry thought as he started transfiguring some stones into furniture. It wasn't long before he had a large desk, bookcase, and chair set up with all his things laid out. He picked up the transfiguration books first and started reading.

After eating his way through three books Harry had to admit there was a lot more to being an Animagus than he realized. The more time he spent as a bird the more traits would leak over into his human form, but not using his Animagus ability could be just as bad. A person could become an Animagus and not turn into their animal form for years, but once the initial transformation is made the wizard or witch has to change every so often to keep the animal form synced up with his human one. The human form adjusts itself constantly, benefiting from exercise and food immediately, but in the beginning the animal form only adjusts itself when the wizard changes into that form. During the time between the animal form is in stasis, but it still requires some attention from time to time. This attention can manifest in many ways, but often appears as a desire for certain things that the Animagus form would want.

The odd urges to fly south and return after a week or so certainly would count as something a bird would want to do, and might have a hand in his vegetarian eating habits. He had no problem with Mrs. Weasley's beef stew when he first turned back into Harry. The different animals have different needs, and some need more attention than others. According to one chart, bird forms need lots of tending to in their first year or so of existence, then become more stable and less demanding.

Harry took a deep breath and changed into Imber. He felt refreshed, relaxed, and happy. The high ceiling was perfect for a few short dives and spins, and in no time at all he felt calm enough to sit still. After changing back into Harry for just long enough to add a perch and book stand to the desk, Imber settled down to read.

He started re-reading the Occlumency books he bought. He had been practicing every night since he watched Snape do it properly. It was easier to do in his bird form, probably because his thoughts as a bird were much more directed than his human one, and it really boosted the learning curve. Rather than seeing things as isolated events and letting them simmer in the back of his mind until a pattern emerged, Imber saw each action as moving toward the next event. He wasn't any smarter, and the clarity was at the expense of more subtle thoughts, but it kept things in order.

Then Harry started in on the Defense work. It was by far his favorite subject, and he was so deeply engrossed in reading, re-reading, and practicing that he lost all track of time. When the door opened he was so startled he dropped right off his perch into a bin.

"It's just me." Imber heard Harry's voice, and then was gently lifted out of the bin by his own hands. "It's just about dinner time, so I brought you some food."

"You're me, right?" Harry asked when he turned back into his human form.

"Yep, except I'm one day older."

"Alright, this is just odd."

"Not as strange as what's going on because of the Sunday Daily Prophet. Be ready to deal with Ron and Malfoy hexing each other at every available chance. I . . . I think it's important that I was surprised when I read it this morning, so I can't tell you what it is, but read up on defensive shields."

"Sure thing, um, I'll see you in the mirror I guess."

"No, you'll see me on the other side of this conversation tomorrow, I mean today, you understand." The older Harry shook his head as he walked out the door.

The younger Harry lifted the cover on the plate the other him had put on the large desk. Fruit slices and bird seed greeted him, so he turned back into Imber and tucked in. After dinner Harry took a break from studying to play his violin, followed by some Occlumency in preparation for the Gringotts package. He didn't want anyone finding out about that until he was good and ready for them. The first thing he pulled out was a book titled 'Traditions' that looked as old as Hogwarts. A quick once-through revealed it to be an explanation of proper wizard behavior, guidelines for formal celebrations of the 'eight sacred days' whatever they were, and lots of other odds and ends. In the back of the hand-written book was a list of Potters going back further than Harry had ever considered. It immediately became the first order of business. There were several styles of handwriting, showing that it had been added to over the years. When changes were made the old sections were kept and the new traditions or methods were inserted with explanations. He had to wipe off his glasses a few times as he devoured several chapters of the book, since they kept getting too wet and smudged to see through.

When Harry read the bottom line he nearly passed out. Who would ever need that much of anything? When the shock finally passed Harry put the tally sheet aside and started going through the other papers in the box. There were copies of deeds for properties across Europe, shares of companies, and an inventory list of the vault. There was also a list of responsibilities. He owned three companies: Tartan's Textiles, Magical Furniture Inc., and Crazy Nick's Potion Suppliers.

According to the paperwork Griphook put together, Tartan's supplied Madam Malkin's Robes for all occasions, Formal Fashions (Paris and London locations), Tot's Turbans (Hogsmeade, London, and South Hampton) with at least half their fabric and thread. Magical Furniture Inc. was a bargain warehouse in South Hampton that shipped all over Britain, Ireland, and the USA by seasonal contract. Crazy Nick's was actually a group of . . . well, they sounded a bit like Slytherin versions of Hagrid. They got potions ingredients from ridiculously dangerous magical creatures and sold them to anyone who could afford it, including Hogwarts School.

In fact, the Hogwarts contract was coming up for renewal this spring and Griphook made a notation that Harry could ask to be sent the paperwork, so he could get the feel of it. He wouldn't actually have the authority to approve or deny anything, but it would make good practice and the Headmaster wouldn't have to be informed. He would also have to keep track of the taxes, utilities, and incomes from the properties since some of them were rented out. There was a complaint from a farmer in France, saying that the noise from a new muggle road was disturbing her animals, requesting that the wards be altered to quiet the roar.

At the moment the bank managed everything for a 'small' fee because he was a minor. The instant he turned seventeen the fee would quickly skyrocket, but Harry didn't see that as a huge problem. It would still be well within his means on the short term, and if he took charge of a few things the fee could easily drop back down to a manageable level. Griphook finished his report with a list of reading materials, some marked to show that Harry already had them in his vault.

It was getting late, so Harry sorted the headache-inducing papers into manageable sections based on complexity and set them on the shelf. When he was done he tweaked the transfiguration of the perch to make it a little more comfortable and turned into Imber. The tired bird blew out the candles with a toot and promptly fell asleep.

First thing the next morning Harry grabbed his things and used the time-turner to get back to Saturday morning. When he re-appeared the desk that he had been leaning on was no longer there, and he fell backwards onto the floor. As he finished picking everything up his other self walked in the door. He flipped the invisibility cloak over himself and walked to the door.

"Have fun, I'll take care of the outside world." He smiled, knowing how shocked he had been. Harry walked into the Great Hall and immediately attacked a stack of pancakes. Between Imber's appetite, the time turner's side effects, and his late start Harry was ravenous. Hermione was the first to join him at the table.

"Well, you're up later than usual."

"I'm feeling a bit more like my old self today, for better or for worse. Could you pass the bangers?"

"What happened to being a vegetarian?"

"Everything in moderation, Hermione; I wanted to try something different for a while, that's all. I haven't given up fruit and nut salads though."

"I'm going to have to try some next time, but I'm glad you are back on meat. Did you know that the average wizard needs to eat almost twice what the average muggle needs to eat, just to maintain their magical energy?" Ron rolled his eyes as he sat down, scooping food onto his plate. "I looked it up after seeing Professor McGonagall's reaction to your dinner the other day. Vegetarian wizards are unheard of, unless you count a few transfiguration and potion disasters. Cutting so many calories out of your diet isn't good for you, particularly when you're doing so much extra magic in the DA." Hermione's tirade was cut short by an owl dropping the Daily Prophet in her lap. As she unrolled it, Harry tried to act calm.

"Who said I was cutting out calories? Nuts are full of oils, and fruit has tons of sugar in it. I just had to eat a little more of it to get the same value as processed pork stuffed in a tube." Harry made a show of biting into a banger as he said this and Ron, who had just shoved another banger in his mouth, gave Harry a dirty look.

"You make it sound so appetizing." Hermione smiled, and then gasped as she looked down at the Prophet. An eruption started at the Slytherin table and rippled across the Hall. Even Professor Snape was tugging on the edge of Professor Flitwick's paper, trying to read over the tiny man's shoulder. Harry ran around the table so he could read Hermione's paper.

**LUCIUS MALFOY KILLED!**

By: Rita Skeeter

The accused Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy, was captured on the steps of Gringotts bank last evening after attempting to make a withdrawal. The blond aristocrat had been awaiting trial when the Dark Lord's forces stormed Azkaban prison. The opportunistic businessman fled, though his wife maintained that she had no knowledge of any involvement with He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named.

A Headstrong Goblin by the name of Griphook sounded the alarm even though Gringotts bank is not bound by wizarding law. Aurors were waiting on the steps – they are not allowed in the bank proper – to apprehend Mr. Malfoy after he completed his transactions. Mr. Malfoy lost all control of himself when he saw the Aurors, spouting offensive slang without consideration of decorum. It is speculated that his stay at Azkaban unhinged him and he re-joined the Death Eaters as part of a delusion.

"He hasn't had anything to do with them since the 1970's" Narcissa Malfoy confessed, "and even then it wasn't an active position. He funded projects and managed things, but rarely did anything directly. He commissioned potions and other supplies, outlined missions, and organized people. When the Dark Lord fell I was happy that it was all over, since I was still recovering from Draco's birth." This of course referencing the severe illness she experienced for the two years following the birth of her only child.

The grief-stricken woman went on to outline all of her husband's activities in the 1970's and welcomed Ministry officials into her home for a floor-to-ceiling search for illegal or questionable items. Many of Lucius Malfoy's personal possessions were taken for further inspection.

Arguments about the man's mental state have been rendered moot, however, by a young man in the crowded streets. Seeing that the deluded man might get away, the apprentice woodworker threw his chisel with deadly accuracy. Mr. Lucius Malfoy was pronounced Dead on Arrival at St. Mungos hospital. Kenneth, the young man in question, had this to say:

"I was at my Grandmother's home when the Death eaters killed my parents. I was eight years old, and Granny didn't have the means to take care of me full time. I'm not about to stand there and watch as he gets away. I might be a squib, and I might be an orphan, and I might be poor, but if I have the chance to prevent what happened to me from happening to someone else I'm going to take it." Officials at the ministry ruled that the young man was acting in self defense, so no legal action will be taken. Mr. Kenneth Starwater said "that's the way it should be when you see a Death Eater tearing down a street."

It is rumored that Gringotts bank has threatened to freeze the assets of anyone attempting to use the bank as a political or legal shield. The bank managers are currently investigating their options when dealing with wanted criminals. As it is now, anyone can access their money at any time, regardless of ministry action. Evidence shows that Lucius may have been living in his family vault, an unheard of practice. How he got into the vault and when is still under investigation.

"Well, it's about time." Ron declared. "He deserves everything they give him, that . . ."Ron went on to use several vulgar comparisons.

"Ron!" Hermione gasped. "I'm sure we all agree, but that's unnecessary."

"I don't think Malfoy is taking it well." Harry whispered. "I'm not saying he isn't a slime ball, but it was his dad."

"That's what you get, Malfoy." Ron wasn't listening to Harry at all. He shouted over to the Slytherin table. "Getting driven half-insane and killed by a squib is too good for him, you know. After what he did to Ginny back in my second year, and I'm sure he's done worse back when You-Know-Who was at full power, anything short of the kiss is too good for him." Harry suddenly understood what his double meant. Malfoy was just sitting there looking through the newspaper, completely disconnected from his surroundings. He wouldn't be protecting Ron from Malfoy; he'd be protecting Malfoy from Ron!

"Ron, calm down." Harry begged. Hermione wasn't going to be any help; she was busy with the rest of the house.

"That little snot has been hiding behind his daddy for ages, but just you wait! Now that he doesn't have all that political power to hide behind I'm going to get him, and I'm going to get him good. First Ginny gets possessed by a book he planted on her, then Percy being sucked into the wrong side of the ministry, then Dad being bit last year and Dumbledore says we should move because of the Death Eaters. I've had enough. That Starwater guy has the right idea." Harry backed off a bit, or Ron might take a swing at him.

_OK, so Ron wants to take everything out on Malfoy now that his Father isn't around to protect him._ Harry was thinking as fast as he could, but couldn't find a way to calm his best friend. _Malfoy isn't responsible for everything Death Eaters do._ Harry wanted to scream, but he was vastly outnumbered. Everyone was shouting, and most people took Ron's position. The blond Slytherin had crossed a lot of people, and now that his insurance was gone it seemed like open season on ferrets.

"SILENCE!" Professor Dumbledore yelled over the din. Slowly everyone sat back down. "One of our students has lost a close family member, a common man took justice into his own hands, and a wanted criminal has been found all in the same stroke. I can understand the commotion, but that is quite enough."

Harry looked around at the whispering groups, trying to gauge which were gossiping and which were plotting to attack Malfoy. His future self must have had a reason for protecting the ferret, so he would do it.

"Ron, he's just lost his Dad. Look at him, and I mean really look, he's just walking around like some kind of zombie. I doubt he even knows which way he's walking!" Harry whispered furiously as Ron stalked down the corridor. Other Slytherins were keeping their distance, and it looked like some of them even took Ron's side.

_Malfoy has made too many enemies, not even his fellow Slytherins will help him out_. The more Harry watched the more he understood why he had to stand up for the blonde. Who could fault a kid for listening to their parents? Harry would give his right arm to have his Dad tell him something. He had believed James Potter was a flawless hero for years hadn't he? That was what sucked about growing up, all these ugly facts of life popping up everywhere.

Since it was a Sunday, there were no classes to distract the rumor mill. Suddenly, everyone who had ever been crossed by Malfoy was talking about it. The exaggerations were astounding, but the sheer number of people the snobbish blond had pissed off was downright scary. It wasn't just petty disagreements either; many of the muggle-born students had been hexed at various times, or pushed around by Crabbe and Goyle on Draco's orders. Harry thought the reaction would be roughly the same if Dudley was suddenly unable to throw his weight around and all the neighborhood kids found out about it.

Harry spent all morning trying to distract Ron, and ended up in an impromptu Quidditch practice to 'put some of that energy to good use.' It had sounded so innocent when Harry said it, but it was quickly turned into a way to completely decimate the Slytherin Quidditch team, and especially Malfoy.

As they were heading to lunch Harry fell behind. He had been up late studying after all, and the Quidditch practice certainly didn't help. Ron finally ran into Malfoy on the stairs leading to the Great Hall. Harry didn't hear the beginning, but he sped up a little to break it up as soon as he realized what was going on. Ron had already hexed the blonde's hair white and blasted him into a corner.

"RON! That's enough, don't you think?"

"What are you on, mate? He's Malfoy, the worst thing to come out of Slytherin since You-Know-Who." Ron pointed at the dizzy boy on the floor. On closer inspection, it looked like Ron had attempted to transfigure Malfoy into a Ferret, and the white hair was accompanied by whiskers and a twitchy nose.

"How about we talk about Gryffindors for a minute? Great names like Peter Pettigrew and Percy Weasley. Aren't they just shining examples of how much better Gryffindors are?"

"You leave my brother out of this. Have you gone round the twist? You hate Malfoy and everything he stands for."

"That's my point Ron; you still defend Percy even if he is a jerk. What if Percy died? Wouldn't your mom fall to pieces about it? Well, Malfoy just lost his Father. Think for a minute, mate, you're acting just someone else I know. Taking advantage of people when their weak or out of sorts. Get a hold of yourself, because we don't do things this way."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked. Malfoy had succeeded in pulling himself off the ground and was now attempting to remove the whiskers he had sprouted.

"We, the light side, the organization you've been dying to get into for the past, I don't know, FOREVER! You do want to be part of it still, don't you? News flash Ron, it's the guys in black hoods and masks that require advanced skills in torture; this side fights fair."

"Harry has a point Ron. Malfoy lost his Dad, lay off him for a while." Ginny, still in her quidditch robes, had come around the corner at some point during their argument and now stood between Malfoy and her brother.

"I . . ." Malfoy croaked and gasped. "I don't need stupid scar-heads and blood traitors defending me."

"You should get to the infirmary, Malfoy. You'll only make it worse trying to fix it yourself," Harry said as calmly as he could. Malfoy coughed a few times. Harry decided his self-proclaimed rival had bigger problems than just a few twitchy whiskers when a bit of blood came up and stained his collar. A steady string of curses, the ineffective non-magical kind but none the less creative, started up when Harry grabbed the thinner boy's arm.

"Come on Malfoy," Harry sighed and steered him to the stairway. "Half the school wants to turn you into mince pie, you know. Just be lucky I'm not a hypocrite about this sort of thing." Not that Harry would have done this is he hadn't told himself to do it, but the words seemed right. Running blind on auto pilot had got him through trickier things than this.

"Why are you…?" was all Malfoy could ask before he started coughing again. Harry had read that botched transfigurations had all sorts of side effects and potential hazards during his research, not to mention all the warnings Prof. McGonagall had given over the years.

"My godfather was your mother's cousin," Harry pulled out the first explanation his mind stumbled on in an effort to stop Malfoy from trying to talk without sounding as if he cared too much. "He adopted me in every way that matters. Also, I found out recently that my paternal great-grandmother was a Malfoy. We're related by both blood and choice."

"So?" Draco asked while Harry deflected a curse that appeared from behind one of the suits of armor. Malfoy blinked and spun his head around to try and identify the attacker. Harry just turned down a one of the passageways he'd learned about from the Marauder's map and hoped anyone following them didn't know the password.

"Like I said, I am not a hypocrite. Lucius Malfoy is family to me, no matter what else he is or how much I hate him. You deserve the chance to deal with what happened to him, and if no one else is willing to watch your back then it falls to me just out of blood obligation."

"I thought… you hated… pureblood traditions," he wheezed as Harry led him up another stairway at a pace that was apparently too fast for the pampered taller boy.

"Not all of them," Harry surprised himself by admitting, "just the ones that have gotten twisted over time. It made sense back when muggles were torturing their own kids into locating all their classmates and burning them at the stake before any of them were old enough to perform a wandless flame freezing charm to handle muggleborns with caution." Harry paused to cast a shield charm he'd found that absorbed rather than deflected most mid-level curses. There was a clump of Ravenclaws up ahead he didn't trust not to assume Harry needed the wrong kind of help with Malfoy. "These days you might as well reverse the whole ideology. People from muggle homes need to be assimilated into an alien and highly insular magical world, not held at arm's length in the vain hope they will go away."

"What?!" Malfoy squawked, then immediately started spitting up blood. Harry pulled out one of the handkerchiefs he'd gotten among the toiletries at 'The Well Dressed Wizard.' He half expected the blond to sneer at it, but apparently there were some things worth accepting a truce about. Probable internal bleeding seemed to merit a little humility.

"All the stuff about honoring home and family sounds great to me. The only person I am close to who doesn't go along with that that, and you'll notice I and most of his family hate him quite a bit for it, is Percy Weasley. He turned his back on his family, for whatever reason, and that's wrong all over. At least I can respect why you stick to your parent's politics even if I think those politics are dead wrong."

"You never…" Malfoy paused to clear his throat. They had finally reached the hospital wing's hallway. "When did you decide…?"

"Well, no one bothers to talk to me about this stuff, you know. I had to learn about all that family stuff from a book I got rather later than I should have. Everyone just assumes all sorts of things about me," Harry sniped. Something he said must have sounded off if Malfoy's expression was anything to go by. "Don't be surprised I'm not the person everyone thinks I am. No one who knows anything about me has anything to do with the press outside a couple obvious incidents." Harry pushed open the door and led the slack-jawed half-ferret to one of the beds.

"What's all this then?" Madam Pomfery came bustling in from her office. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy! What have the two of you gotten into now?"

"Someone tried to transfigure him into a ferret and it's been getting worse all the way here," Harry explained. "It wasn't me. Oi, I'm serious! There are no guilty parties in this room!"

"All right, all right let's see what we have," the nurse sighed and shooed Harry out so she could work on Draco. Harry picked a chair nearby and planted himself.

Harry pulled the family tradition book out of his bag and found the 'Grief and Disaster' chapter in the table of contents. He hadn't gotten very far in the thick volume, and this chapter was near the back. He skimmed it, focusing on the parts with the least changes, because it seemed depressingly relevant to his life. He'd guessed right about how to act according to the article 'How to handle the Death of a Family Member you Hate,' though he giggled a bit at the introduction: "Assuming you aren't responsible, it is necessary to maintain a certain public face; if you are responsible see chapter 42: Apologies you Don't Want to Make," was a great opening line. Then again, the general tone of the book was natural and easy to pick up. Harry half suspected one of the spells on the book made it easier to read; that it was heavily charmed was fairly obvious from the first glance.

When the oppressive stillness and silence of a privacy charm dissipated Harry put the book away. He'd offer to help Malfoy, as would be expected after he acknowledged a family bond. Harry had a sneaking feeling that conversation would be both surreal and desperately important. He'd also send the correct kind of flowers to the widow. Harry decided to add researching flower meanings to his to-do list, as the examples in the book were all wrong. As far as he knew, Mr. Malfoy had never wronged him in a business deal or backed out on an arranged marriage.

"Your turn Mr. Potter," the nurse chirped as she pulled back the curtain. Behind her Malfoy looked fine, but that didn't mean he was up to leaving. "Up on the bed, now, and let's have a look."

"Uh… a look at what? There isn't anything wrong with me."

"No arguments Mr. Potter, up on the bed," Madam Pomfrey commanded, her wand flicking sparks. Harry walked over to the indicated bed next to Malfoy and deposited himself on it. "I hear you've suddenly lost the ability to process complex proteins. Minerva insisted I not say anything about such an obvious failed transfiguration experiment unless you came in willingly…"

"Wait, what? What do you think I did?" Harry jerked back from the diagnostic spells the eager witch was casting during her rambling.

"You were experimenting over the summer holiday; and with self-transfiguration no less!"

"I wasn't experimenting, and I meant that other part. I lost the ability to do what? I feel fine!"

"You can't digest meat. That is not normal," Madam Pomfery said with finality, poking her wand at Harry's stomach emphatically. Harry saw Malfoy looking over in interest.

"I can eat meat, I just don't _want_ to," Harry protested. "I am perfectly fine." The nurse clucked at him and waved her wand. As she poked, flicked, and swished Harry lay back on the sheets and rolled his eyes. "In fact, I'm better than I can remember being. I sleep at night; I'm ahead in most of my classes; I've got plenty of energy."

"It isn't normal not to eat meat. It is very important for a young man to have plenty of nutrients at his disposal," she huffed, leaning back to purse her lips. "On the other hand I can't find anything malformed."

"I like vegetables. Is that really all that weird?"

"A balanced diet is essential. You can't simply refuse to eat meat and expect to remain in good health," Madam Pomfrey huffed. "Would you care to explain why you've decided to risk your health?" Harry thought fast, and decided to repeat what he'd told Mrs. Weasley and tack on a few other half-truths. The idea of chicken or beef was decidedly unappealing.

"Over the summer I didn't have access to a kitchen or a stove. So, I ate whatever I could lay hands on that didn't need cooking. It was a bit rough at first, but then I started to feel really great. I sleep all night, every night, with no trace of insomnia. When I wake up I do it immediately and I'm not grumpy or irritable. I've got way more energy. I mean, I was out on the pitch all morning and I could go back all afternoon and I don't think I'd be worn out after. I can focus more, in class and with homework," Harry explained. Sure, it wasn't the food that caused all those changes but the changes were real enough in any case. He was also acutely aware that Malfoy could hear him. "I started eating meat again when I went to visit the Weasleys, but I started feeling bad again. I didn't want to insult Mrs. Weasley's cooking by refusing to eat what she gave me, but when I got to Hogwarts I decided to go back to the restricted diet. I've been experimenting with different foods, and I think the house elves are helping out even though I didn't ask them to." The overbearing witch considered Harry for a few long moments.

"It is highly irregular. I want you to come for regular check-ups until I am satisfied you aren't suffering any side effects. There are some books in the library about diet and nutrition, normally for the worst cases of miss-transfiguration. I'll get you a pass for Madam Pince so you can take them out," she decided at last. "The first Monday of each moth I want you up here so I can see for myself. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry agreed.

"Good," she said and with a wave of her wand a pair of trays floated over to her. "I want to see this for myself," she muttered to herself. One tray hovered over Malfoy's bed and the other hovered just above Harry's lap were he sat on the edge of the bed. Just as Harry was about to ask, the trays filled with food much as the plates in the Great Hall did.

Harry happily tucked into some peanut butter and apricot jam on toast with a side salad. Malfoy kept shooting him odd glances over a sheppard's pie, but he just concentrated on his food. When he'd cleared off the tray, which had produced a rather large bowl filled with a chopped nut and fruit dish for desert, he looked up to see Madam Pomfery nod at him and retreat to her office. He looked over at Malfoy, who was looking at him expectantly over a cup of tea. When he realized the other boy wouldn't speak first, he cleared his throat and gave it his best shot.

"Malfoy, as the only person I'm aware of who hasn't misplaced his good sense, I would like to offer my services in this time of grief and need." This wasn't quite a quote of the proper, traditional offer he was expected to make, but this wasn't exactly a typical situation and he'd be damned before he admitted anything resembling brotherhood to a Malfoy. "I'm probably the last person you expected to hear that from, but a few things changed over the summer and well… I may not like you but there is a war on now. All this rivalry stuff with quidditch and Gryffindor versus Slytherin doesn't hold a candle to what's out there waiting for us."

"You expect me to follow you like the rest of your fan club." The tone wasn't malicious or sneering, but only just.

"It would be improper to demand anything from you today."

"You would still expect repayment."

"Calling a truce after the death of a family member shouldn't mean you owe me anything."

"It's more than just a truce if you are protecting me. You'll expect me to fight for you later, same as the rest," Malfoy accused, eyes narrow. Harry considered that for a moment.

"I wouldn't want someone at my back who doesn't want to be there. I wouldn't even ask you to help me if you didn't believe in what I'm doing. I don't even ask that much of my friends, they follow because they want to and wouldn't stay behind if I ordered them to. The most I could ask of you is to not fight me." He tried to hold eye contact, but he couldn't help fidgeting a little.

"What would it mean, exactly, to not fight you?" Malfoy was fidgeting more than Harry was, at least, and couldn't seem to look at him either.

"It's not a complicated idea. You just… go on vacation out of the country during the holidays, or give the wards over your house a once over and keep the door locked. You've got enough money to stay out of it if you want to. If you want to keep your head down then I'll do what I can to make sure you are protected, same as anyone else who doesn't want to be involved. If you want my help then all I ask in return is that you not get in my way personally."

"Indefinitely?" Malfoy asked.

"For however long you want my help. Today is… well it's like I said. This is a family thing, and even with everything else between us you don't deserve to get dumped on today. I mean, even this conversation is… surreal a best." Harry shook his head and shrugged.

"Alright, I need to get to the owlry, then I'm just going to hide in my dorm," Malfoy admitted.

"I know where the Slytherin dorms are, I can meet you for dinner if you like." The blond glared at him in silent accusation. "I'm a parselmouth, remember, I found it in second year while trying to clear my name."

"Alright then, assuming Madam Pomfery will let me out of here."

"Deal," Harry agreed, gathering his things and hoping the rest of his long weekend was less stressful.


	14. D A Discoveries

14: D.A. Discoveries

Harry ducked as Malfoy shot yet another dark hex over his head. The second round of Defense Association trials was well underway and Harry, as promised, was dueling Draco Malfoy for entrance into A.I.D. This time around two defenders were paired with each attacker. Expecting Malfoy's proficiency in dark magic, Harry had chosen Hermione as his partner Defender, and this would certainly be a duel to remember.

Hermione focused on defense as they danced over the now circular dueling platform, choosing exactly the right blocking spell for each of Malfoy's hexes. Harry focused on offence, and took pleasure in confusing the blond by using spells they hadn't studied in class. Soon Malfoy became quick to dodge Harry's spells, but was hit almost every time Hermione decided to dodge and attack rather than shield.

Harry was having a hard time concentrating on the duel, possibly because Malfoy was having a hard time himself. Every time their eyes met Harry got a glimpse of the inside of Malfoy's decidedly busy head. Snapshots of Malfoy's mother, letters from Malfoy Sr., a diary filled with Malfoy's conversations with Harry and what they might mean, and hours spent reclining on his bed being forced to study by Mrs. Malfoy flashed behind blue eyes like images in a pool. Unfortunately, Mrs. Malfoy's sudden insistence that Draco live up to his potential was not enough. Hermione knocked the blond clear across the room when he tripped over his own overly dramatic designer dueling cloak. Harry asked him if Italian silk cushioned the blow to his pride.

Ginny and Hermione didn't make the best team, they knew tons of spells but weren't very good at working together. Ron could coordinate spells with practically anyone, reinforcing what Harry already knew from playing chess with him: Ron Weasley was an ace at strategy. Harry himself jumped up onto the platform a few times, dueling against the R.E.D. members that got the highest scores in the first round. He was fairly certain most of the younger years were afraid of him. Luna was odd, but her peculiar fighting style often caught people off guard. Neville's self-confidence was better then it had been the first time around, but he still refrained from making very risky moves. On the other hand he had plenty of stamina and could wear down an adventurous opponent.

"Oh, shoot." Harry glanced at his watch as the last attacker was disarmed. "We've run over; it's almost curfew! Everyone pack it up before the Prefects among us have to start taking points." Harry helped some of the worn-out students sort themselves out before turning to his own stacks of parchment. Ron and Hermione were already rolling up the long charts.

"You should be paying closer attention to the time, Harry. Everyone but the Ravenclaws will have to hurry to get to their common rooms on time!" Hermione chastised.

"I just lost track. Things were going great and I didn't think the last three would last so long. Look, you two get moving. I've got my cloak in my bag and we'll lose less points if it's just me that's late. Besides, if Snape comes looking Ron can say I'm in the loo. He wouldn't expect the 'Golden Trio' to part, would he?"

"Harry's got a point, 'Mione. Snape's been prowling around the tower at curfew every day this week. My guess is he's sore about giving you points that one time and not having the chance to take any back." Ron agreed and the pair of them walked off with a wave. Harry started on the problem of fitting the thick rolls of wide parchment into his bottomless bag. A person would think that such an item would benefit from a larger opening than normal, but apparently whoever made it didn't think of that. As he was sliding in another roll the last few D.A. members were racing out the door. One green and blue backpack gaped open as the boy wearing it hurried out the door. A black notebook tumbled out just as the door shut, and Harry raced to the door to catch whoever dropped it.

The hallway was empty when Harry opened the door, and he hadn't gotten a good look at the boy carrying the backpack. _Oh well, I'll just wait until the next meeting. I'll ask the people with green and blue backpacks if they dropped it._ Harry thought as he scooped up the book and dumped it in with his other things. If he ran he would just make it before curfew.

Cleaning up after the DA took much longer then Harry realized it would. The dozens of enchanted scoring scrolls covered in complicated statistics had to be handled carefully, as some were still calculating. The spidery webs of wet ink had to be charmed imperturbable and slipped into the bag in flat stacks rather than neat rolls or the numbers would deform as they dried. When Harry finally left the room it was already five minutes past curfew, his cloak wrapped tightly around him. He took off at a sprint, hoping that if Snape thought to question Hermione and Ron that they'd say something about him being in the loo. As he rounded the last corner to the Fat Lady's portrait Harry pulled off his cloak and called out the password. The portrait had asked Harry not to call out the password while under it, since she was now required to see the person asking her to open.

"Gibberishy!" Harry smiled. The password had been chosen to make fun of Professor Dupont's unintelligible lectures. The other day Harry was quite sure the odd man had told him to 'Keep an ear in your trousers, the game's gone Grenache field.' Though it probably had to do with Harry's high mark on the Grindylow report Dupont had them do for review…

"Out past curfew again, Potter?" The shadow behind a suit of armor detached itself from the wall and became Professor Snape.

"Sorry, sir." Harry panted. "It took longer to clean up after the meeting then I thought. It won't happen again, the trials are over. It's only five minutes past ten."

"Twenty points for being out after curfew and five for talking back. You are no different than any other student in this school, no matter what privileges Dumbledore sees fit to bestow upon you." Snape sneered. "Now get to bed this instant!"

"Yes, sir." Harry could have left it at that, but he couldn't help himself, "It's nice to see you back on form, sir. Some of us were worried you'd given up the game." Harry shut the portrait door quickly, fearing more lost points if he pressed his luck any further.

Harry yawned deeply as he pulled on his nightshirt. Neville had asked him a while back why he still had raggedy pajamas when all his other clothes were new, and Harry had shrugged him off. He didn't care what he looked like at night when no one was looking so long as he was comfortable, but it also reminded him of the way the Dursleys treated him over the years. He hadn't decided whether or not this bothered him. After all, as miserable as he was while there, they had taught him a few things he couldn't have learned from loving caretakers. The true worth of humility and pride under adversity, how far little white lies could take you and how horribly they could blow up in your face, the power of threats, the subtle aspects of stealth, and how to appreciate the small things in life had all been beaten into him at an early age. Not that his budding maturity meant that he liked his relations any more then he used to, just that he could appreciate that they had shaped who he was to this day and he hadn't come out all that bad (if he said so himself.)

Harry sighed and leaned back heavily onto his nightstand, weary of the conflicting thoughts that always plagued him before bed each night. Some nights it was Sirius' death, some nights it was Dumbledore's meddling, some nights it was Malfoy and the Death Eaters in training, and some nights it was Mrs. Weasley's Boggart from last summer, but it was always a collection of emotionally charged thoughts intermixed with philosophical insights so deep they threatened to drown him. He often wondered if this was how Dumbledore had started out, gasping for air beneath his own deep thoughts and machinations until he got used to being 'wise' or whatever it was they called the borderline insanity that the heroes of the world suffered from. The again, Dumbledore certainly didn't _suffer_ from his insanity as he quite clearly enjoyed it.

With a shove Harry straitened up to climb into bed and heard something drop to the floor. The notebook that he found in the room of requirement had fallen off his nightstand and opened to the center page on the floor. Harry gasped and snatched it up, darting behind his bed curtains with a seeker's reflexes. He was glad the other boys had all turned in while he was in the shower, as he would never have been able to explain what he was holding in his hand. He had to be wrong, of course; there was no way he had seen what he thought he saw. After a few deep breaths Harry gathered up his famed Gryffindor courage and opened the notebook to the first page. It boldly announced its contents:

_Swish and Flick – a Gay Wizard's Best Resource! _Harry blinked, rubbed his glasses, peered at the page without them, and finally decided that he was in fact holding what he thought he was holding. He flicked through the pages, ignoring his nagging conscience. After all, it was perfectly natural for a teenage boy to have a dirty magazine. How many did Dudley have? And the twins had some too, if he remembered correctly. It had been an odd argument between Mrs. Weasley and the twins, actually, since Fred and George had not shared the blame for once. It had been neatly pinned on George and Fred was having nothing to do with it at all.

So it was a little forbidden, and even Aunt Petunia had not let Dudley off the hook about it. Unbidden, her wails about going blind and having various precious bits fall off came to Harry's mind. He was fairly sure there was no truth to it, but he didn't really know anything for sure about the birds and the bees. Wouldn't something have happened to Dudley by now if there was any truth to her wild claims? He certainly didn't heed her warnings, and the paper-thin walls of his bedroom didn't spare Harry the nauseating knowledge of his cousin's disobedience. As for Harry himself, he'd felt dirty the few times he'd experimented and mostly ended up taking a cold shower rather then doing anything too serious. He very rarely had time alone with shower stalls and dorm mates coming and going all the time. Even at the Burrow and Grimmauld place he shared a room with Ron, which was embarrassing on nights where his dreams were more pleasant.

He'd never had anyone to give him 'the talk' or even be available to ask those kinds of questions. Sure, living in a dormitory had taught him a thing or two about the basic mechanics, but he wasn't sure if he could trust all the information he gleaned from the older boy's bragging. Uncle Vernon would have a coronary if he asked, Sirius was always joking around and Harry hadn't thought to ask when he had the chance… There was Remus, he supposed, but how in the name of Merlin did one go about starting that conversation? He could just imagine the letter: 'Hey Remus, could you meet me in the Shrieking Shack on the next Hogsmeade Weekend? I'd like to ask you about… sex and stuff.'

Harry could barely think it without blushing from his hairline to his toes, and now he was holding a dirty magazine that someone had dropped. Then again, it didn't seem to be completely filthy. There were articles about various goings on in the gay community. The idea that there was a 'gay community' large enough to have serious concerns and 'goings on' cheered Harry up quite a bit. Sure, he'd never seen grown men with that little on before in his life, and the article titled 'Natural Oils vs. Potions: Which is better for a romantic evening?' didn't seem like good dinner conversation, but there were serious political and social articles too. Those pages were decorated with much less suggestive pictures in the hopes that someone would actually read them rather then drool mindlessly on them. Harry decided that reading some of those articles wouldn't be wrong by any stretch of the imagination, and maybe reading the health section would be in his best interests.

After an hour or so of reading, blushing clear to his toes for most of it, Harry decided it was time for sleep. Occlumency was near impossible with the knowledge of the magazine tucked away beneath his mattress. Harry woke up the next morning tangled in messy sheets with vague, blurry images floating through his mind. He ran through a very cold shower and grabbed some toast on the way to Wednesday morning DADA class. A.I.D. meetings were scheduled for Wednesday evenings starting next week, so he'd have plenty of time to decide if he was going to give the magazine disguised as a notebook back to its owner.

That weekend Harry used the time turner again, this time daring to go back from Sunday night to Friday and do the entire weekend over. After going back he did his homework with Ron and Hermione on the outside, goofing off and relaxing after his two days of concentrated study. The now-familiar 'stretched' sensation accompanied the dual existence, and Harry was now sure his enhanced appetite had nothing to do with the after effects of Animagus transformation and everything to do with being in two places at once. He also needed more sleep than normal, but he still got more done then he could have without the time turner. His violin playing was defiantly benefiting from the practice, since he now relied less and less on the magic of the instrument to play well. He supposed it was cheating since the violin had been doing most of the work before, but Harry was slowly learning to play on his own. Classes on Monday went smoothly, and it was with great anticipation that Harry entered the Room of Requirement to lead the first meeting of N.O.D.

"Alright, the idea of Novice Orientation Defense is to lay the foundations of Defense Against the Dark Arts. We'll be going over the rules of a proper wizard duel, standard procedures for dealing with dangerous creatures, and various shielding and protective spells. We focus on running away to live another day, sending for help, and protecting yourself. As the year progresses some offensive material will be covered, but that is not the point of this level of the Defense Association. During the dark days ahead there will be dangers that everyone must take into account. What I teach you here may well save your lives, as well as the lives of your family. At this level there are no heroics, only survival. Death Eaters could wipe the floor with most of the people who got into R.E.D. and A.I.D., so telling you to stand up to an attack would be paramount to sending you all to your deaths!" Harry paused in his rant, realizing that he had gotten carried away.

"This isn't to say that just because you can't defend yourselves now doesn't mean you can't learn to defend yourselves by the end of this year. The most important thing is to know your own limitations and work around them." Harry flicked his wrist at the chalkboard and a list of spells began writing itself. "I know some of you are familiar with these jinxes, as they are all first-year spells, but many of you are first years and I need everyone to be able to cast these properly. Pair up and start at the top of the list, the counter-spell is listed directly below the jinx. The right-hand column lists the page numbers and volume number in the Standard Book of Spells if you need a reference. Cast the jinx on your partner and then remove it, then let your partner do the same to you. This is so you know what the jinxes feel like and can predict how someone hit by them will react. If you don't get it on the first try keep casting, I'll be coming around to lend a hand. If both of you get it then move on to the next jinx/counter-spell pair."

Harry wandered around the room, correcting wand movements and pronunciations. It was much the same as it was last year, except now all the other kids were much younger than him and more prone to accidents. He continually had to remove colored spots, extra limbs, and other ailments caused by miss-fired spells. Harry noticed Samantha, the small Slytherin girl from the end of the first trials, did fine after she got over her nerves. With an eye on the clock, he made sure the meeting broke up long before curfew this time. With the suggestion that everyone practice for next week and a few personal comments the first meeting of N.O.D. came to a close.

Harry plopped down into an overstuffed armchair in front of the fireplace. As much fun as the D.A. was, he was exhausted. Between running back and forth making sure first years didn't blow each other's head off and correcting wild wand movements so that they actually did something constructive, Harry was pooped. He had just spaced out staring into the fire when a hand landed on his shoulder.

"Hey Harry, those firsties wear you down?" Ron asked as he dropped himself into the chair next to Harry.

"Yeah, I can almost see where Snape is coming from… I'm joking" Harry quickly finished at Ron's slack-jawed look. "It was great, we made lots of progress. They have lots of potential, and it wasn't all first years, only a few third years got into R.E.D. and I asked them to come to a few N.O.D. meetings later on for extra practice."

"I dunno, mate. I couldn't handle all those little kids. I mean, is it just me or are they getting smaller? We couldn't have been that tiny as first years." Ron made a great sweeping motion with his hands while Harry laughed himself silly. "What's so funny? I was serious!"

The next two days went by too quickly for Harry. He had finished reading _Swish and Flick_ in a rather silly attempt to justify looking at the pictures to whatever deity might be in charge of punishing randy boys who do naughty things. It wasn't as satisfying as he had been lead to believe. The health articles did make him a little more confident, but the pictures just left him frustrated. It did give him very messy dreams.

Harry tried to convince himself he was only nervous about the R.E.D. meeting, but about halfway through the meeting he spotted the blue and green backpack from last week and gave up trying to fool himself. A rather attractive Ravenclaw boy was practicing dueling against Blaize Zabini and coming up about even. The sandy blond had the same stretched appearance that all the sixth year boys had adopted from growing too much in a short span of time, but it was taken a little further on him. Sebastian, if Harry remembered his name right, had a very pointy chin and a wispy look that reminded Harry of what the Headmaster may have looked like when he was young. Long fingers, long arms, long legs… there wasn't much substance to him at all. As he continued around the room Harry wondered what it might be like to kiss his spry classmate. Would it be as disappointing as Cho, one awkward situation after another until they started screaming at each other for no real reason? Or maybe like the Yule Ball, dancing around each other with no idea what to do? Or maybe… WHAM! Harry was suddenly looking up at the ceiling, Ginny leaning over him and someone was patting his head.

"Whazzat?" Harry eloquently inquired.

"You got hit with one heck of a stray spell, that's what." Ginny explained. "You were watching Padma and Parvati when he," Ginny pointed over Harry's head, "let loose with something big. Zabini dodged, but since you weren't looking…" Harry had stopped listening to Ginny's play by play. If Zabini was the one who dodged, then the hand currently checking for head injuries belonged to the Ravenclaw who dropped the notebook. Blushing furiously Harry levered himself off the ground.

"Sebastian, right? Sebastian McClathan?" Harry asked, satisfied that the other boy was blushing as much as he was.

"Yeah, you alright?"

"I'm fine. That was a good shot; you hit harder then you look like you could. I'd hate to be on the wrong end of your wand in a dark alley." Harry joked, though it sounded a little lame. "I'd better keep a sharper eye out for stray curses, what exactly did you hit me with?"

"A blasting hex I read about over the summer." Sebastian seemed to be having a hard time coming up with anything to say.

"Well, no harm done. Let's keep going, everyone! We have about half an hour left before we call it quits." Harry said to the gathered crowd. Malfoy was snickering in the back with Crabbe. "Sebastian," Harry asked quietly, "could you show me that blasting hex? I don't think I've come across it before." Harry wasn't sure what he was doing, his mouth was moving without his permission. Sebastian agreed immediately and within a few minutes Harry could produce a burst of explosive force big enough to take out three Death Eaters at once. He couldn't think of a good reason not to continue going around the room after that, and Sebastian was the second one out the door when Harry called time. Harry couldn't shake the oddly pleased feeling meeting Sebastian had left him with, even if he was disappointed by not being able to corner him afterward.


	15. A Feast with Negotiations

A Feast with Negotioations  


Harry burst out laughing. Ron had just managed to fit seven chicken nuggets in his mouth at once, a new record, and then upturn a glass of pumpkin juice on Hermione's lap while defending his antics. Harry looked around the Hall at his classmates. The Halloween feast was well underway and no traces of Voldemort or his war could be seen in the happy faces. Even Snape had opted to quietly devour a rack of ribs rather than scowl at the terrible table manners on display throughout the Hall. He was even tolerating the bright, fuzzy pumpkin pom-pom the Headmaster pinned to his hat. If Harry did not know better, he would have said the cranky man was enjoying himself.

After a while, the feeding frenzy died down, older students reminding younger to save room for the deserts that were soon to come. When the clatter of spoons and forks on china gave way to excited chatter the Headmaster rose from his seat. The Hall faded into silence in a few short breaths.

"Before we bring out the deserts, which I am sure you have all saved ample room for, I have an announcement to make. After much deliberation the staff and I have decided that due to the popularity and success of the Yule Ball two years prior, Hogwarts will be hosting a formal dance again this year." Excited chatter broke out for a few moments before Dumbledore called their attention back to the front. "On the evening of February fourteenth there will be a formal social event beginning at the usual dinner hour. The details of this event will be hammered out by a group of students working in conjunction with a panel of the staff. Anyone interested in being on the dance committee should speak with Professor McGonagall or Professor Flitwick starting tomorrow. I sincerely hope that this will run smoothly and start a tradition that will be kept for years to come. Now, I have kept you from your desert long enough. Dig in!" The explosion of chatter over this unexpected announcement kept many from noticing the mounds of candies and cakes on the tables for some time.

Harry grabbed Ron's elbow and pulled him away from Dean's joking around. When the red head stopped laughing at the image of the entire staff in pink robes Harry whispered viciously into his ear.

"Ron, don't forget fourth year. Ask her soon or I won't help you mop up the results."

"What?" Ron balked, blushing furiously. "Who, er, what are you talking about?"

"Ask Hermione to the dance before next week or I won't speak to you until after the dance. Got it?"

"But…." Ron sputtered.

" If the two of you get into a stink like in fourth year I will not be caught in the middle under any circumstances. I don't care if I have to go back to where I was this summer – I will not become involved." Harry growled.

"If she says no… or goes bonkers anyway…"

"I don't know but it can't be worse than not asking. I won't be involved, I won't be stuck as third wheel, and I won't save you." Ron looked like he was going to argue more and Harry snapped. "I'm not going to say another word." Harry picked up his plate and walked over to where the twins were sitting.

"Hey guys, can I squeeze in here? Ron's trying to hide behind me and I don't feel like getting Hermione mad at me." Harry asked.

"Sure thing Harry…" Fred started.

"…have a seat." George finished as the two slid apart to make room for Harry. Fred slipped an arm around him and George leaned in conspiratorially.

"Will he ask her…"

"… or is he yellow?"

"I don't know, but if he doesn't I'm not going to get caught in the mess it makes. How about you two? Anyone I should keep off my dance card?" It was amazing how liberated Harry felt. No matter what girl he took, he would never have any intentions of making her his girlfriend. They'd be pals for the night, and he'd be sure to make that clear. Perhaps if Luna didn't get a date he'd take her. Harry smiled and wished he'd figured himself out sooner. There would be no pretending to be interested, no forced kisses, and no pressure.

"Planning on going stag, Harry?" Fred teased.

"Or maybe just stealing everyone's girl?" George accused.

"I'm planning on staying single if I can."

"Come on Harry, Cho couldn't have been that bad," George encouraged while Fred munched on a cherry tart.

"Sure she could be!" a fourth year Harry didn't quite recognize said. The tallish boy was stuffing himself with ice cream and Harry hadn't noticed him behind the tall centerpiece. "She was all broken up about her old flame's death. She never shut up about it."

"How would you know…"

"… all about Harry's girlfriend…"

"… ex-girlfriend or otherwise?" Fred and George asked together."

"I know because it bugged the hell out of Aggie and I'm dating Aggie." John, Harry belatedly remembered him from the R.E.D. meeting, seemed to notice that Harry didn't have the faintest notion who Aggie was, so he continued. "Aggie's a seventh year Ravenclaw, and Cho's third cousin once removed or something like that. Cho never stopped whining about how horrible it was to loose such a strong, upstanding gentleman. I'm afraid she's called you a childish consolation prize on many occasions, Harry."

"Don't remind me! It's enough to make me swear off girls for good," Harry joked, a wide smile on his face. Honestly, he was fairly sure that had nothing to do with it. George and John laughed, but Fred just looked at Harry.

"Careful there, Harry," Fred said. "You don't want to start any rumors about yourself."

"I'm not so sure." Harry suddenly felt a little ill. Just because he felt no need to date any girls didn't mean the girls wouldn't want to date him. "Fourth year I couldn't turn a corner without some letter, gift, or eager witch ending up in my way. Second year was the same, but I think I was saved by being twelve and looking ten." The four boys had a good laugh over that.

"Ickle firsties aren't very attractive…"

"Second year you were a murderous parslemouth dark wizard…"

"Third year you were a dead Potter walking, and collateral damage isn't a pleasant way to die…"

"Fourth you were a glory hog…"

"Then last year you were the next Dark Lord again…"

"…a liar…"

"…taken…"

"…and angry at everything that moved." The twins grinned like the fools they were, counting off the reasons why Harry wasn't a good catch over the years.

"This year I'm the savior of the wizarding world, had the chance to update my wardrobe, and was telling the truth the whole time. I'm heralded as a responsible young man with strong convictions, unafraid to do what is right even when it is not easy or popular, and possessed of good fiscal sense," Harry grumped.

"Yeah, that's a tough break Harry. Fathers are going to start sending you letters on behalf of their marriage age daughters with the way you've been painted in the Prophet these last two months." John said in fake sympathy." If you have any trouble disposing of the sweets they will no doubt send you, please don't forget the average peasants you call friends." Another fit of laughter washed over them, but was interrupted by Hermione suddenly rushing past them. She looked angry and she sat down with Luna at the Ravenclaw table. Ron then stalked over, looking fit to strangle Harry.

"Ask her sooner rather than later, he says. Don't forget the fiasco in fourth year, he says. So I say: 'Hey, Hermione, I know no one could possibly have asked you yet this time. Would you like to go to the dance with me?' and she just glares at me a moment. Then she says, 'Just because Victor isn't here doesn't mean I can't get a date' and storms off like I insulted her mother." Ron fumed, "Brilliant idea, Harry! You said you wouldn't be involved if I didn't ask her soon enough. Now she's mad that I did ask her. If you don't help me with this, you'd better start sleeping with one eye open because this is entirely your fault!"

"Drat, caught in my own trap." Harry stood up. "Well, I'd better hold up my end of things. I trust you'd be kind enough to send for my remains if I'm not back from enemy territory in ten minutes."

"Sure thing, but I'll send my little sister," John laughed, "I'm not going near that pack of girls for anything." The twins laughed out their agreement as Harry walked over to the pack of girls.

"If Ron wants to talk to me he can come over and be ignored himself," Hermione growled.

"I am not here to deliver any message from any well-meaning red-headed friend of ours. I am here to ask you if you need help getting up to the hospital wing," Harry said with deep concern painted onto his face.

"Why would I need to go there?" Hermione asked, turning around on the crowded bench. She was surrounded by girls – this was enemy territory and if Harry didn't dance fast he'd get hexed.

"Well, I think it's obvious you are suffering from some sort of paranoia or perhaps a strong blow to the head. When Ron could not figure out his feelings for you, you were insulted. That was understandable. Two years ago neither Ron nor myself was prepared for anything other than friendship with anyone, except for the odd random crush. Going to the Yule Ball was insulting because we didn't realize you were dating Krum. However, this has very little to do with all that." Harry started talking a little faster as the glares increased in intensity. "When have you ever thought Ron so subtle and devious as to indirectly insult anyone? Frankly, he is not that complex. He thinks with his heart most of the time, not his head."

"Your point is?" one of the Ravenclaws Harry didn't know asked.

"Put what Ron said in the vacuum of tonight."

"It was certainly a vacuum in his head," someone interrupted.

"He said, and I'm paraphrasing, I want to be the first person who asks you to the dance so there is no chance anyone can steal you, so I'm asking you right now before any of the blokes looking your way has a chance." Harry paused as all the girls gathered around sighed or got starry-eyed. "I am saying this only because I am good friends with both of you and dislike ping-pong when I am the ball. Since the error of judgment is grossly out of character I am forced to conclude that you are not well. Since I am your friend I will gladly help you to the hospital wing so you can get some rest and collect yourself, if not treatment for your unfortunate state." Hermione was torn between glaring at Harry and beaming at him.

"Did he really mean it that way?" Luna asked, though it was impossible to tell how she meant it.

"Of course he did! I might tease the pair of them mercilessly for the next few weeks, but I do not want to be stuck in the middle of another fight. Ron likes Hermione, Hermione likes Ron, and I like peace and harmony." A second year Ravenclaw looked at him suddenly, setting her book aside.

"My name's Harmony, did you want to talk to me?" she asked. The girls dissolved into giggles and explanations while Harry blushed and mumbled about odds. He left the situation to resolve on its own and retreated to a section of the Hufflepuff table where several N.O.D. members were arguing over what desert was the best. He wanted to talk to the pair of twins about team dueling and needed to know when they were free. As he scribbled down a date and time he saw Hermione walking up to Ron. The rest of the feast went without a hitch, and everyone collapsed into bed stuffed with sweets. It wasn't until he was nearly asleep that Harry remembered he had to meet with Professor Snape after dinner the next day.

* * *

"At least you can be on time for your lessons, Mr. Potter; not that it could make up for your complete lack of talent." Professor Snape snapped as he slammed the door shut. "The Headmaster seems to believe that since I have already seen into your microscopic mind, there would be less harm for me to continue these pointless lessons then to introduce a third party. I was forced to disagree, since you quite obviously can do no worse." 

"Professor Snape, I am well aware of your opinions. I do not need to review how insignificant you think I am. For your information, I bought some books on Occlumency this summer. The theory lessons in the books were not only well within my ability to comprehend, but also crucial to my understanding of what we are about to do. Had you explained Madam Duswan's theory of the magical mind in the first place, neither the Headmaster nor I could have doubted your motives." Harry braced against the mental attack he knew was coming.

"How dare you, you insolent little brat. Legilimens!" Harry watched with faint amusement as Professor Snape waited for the curse to take effect. The rage on the sallow man's face faded into surprise and he tried again. Harry felt the tug on his mind, this one more violent then the first offhand attack, but just like the first curse he let the spell slip away like an oiled snitch.

"The late Ernist Nika compared occlumency to Quidditch. If you ever read his theories they might have been handy in teaching me, even if he was an insufferable windbag. Wouldn't forcing me to read his endless dribble be enough to slake your thirst for torture? Even with that possibly entertaining comparison he ruined it by not shutting up when he was done."

"Legilimens!" the irate professor shouted. Harry tore his eyes away and forced himself to looks away, tearing away from the spell before it could take hold.

"You have a point there, Professor. I couldn't really get good at Occlumency until I studied the basics of Legilimency. After all, it is nearly impossible to defend against something when you don't know what it is in the first place." Harry kept up a pleasant, conversational tone as Professor Snape grew progressively more livid.

"So, this is my punishment for failing to teach you properly. I am sure you and the Headmaster will have a pleasant laugh when you review this farce with him, not to mention your devoted fans. I'm sure you've already had plenty fun laughing at me." The professor dropped into his chair behind the desk, dismissing Harry with a spastic gesture.

"The Headmaster doesn't give me that much credit. He laughed all right, but it was when I told him that I had figured it out on my own this summer. Sometimes I wonder if he or Professor McGonagall believe I can wipe my own nose without the Order there to hold my tissue."

"You have no respect…"

"For people who refuse to let me grow up! It's about damn time someone gave me the right to choose my own fate and at least a year too late by my count. Now, if you are quite finished pretending that my first name is James, we can get _on_ with this."

"Get on with what? You obviously don't need those lessons."

"My defenses are far from perfect, professor. I might be able to defend myself against the Dark Lord at a distance and you while you are too angry to think or focus properly, but I need more practice. I spent an hour conditioning myself for this conversation, and my mental walls won't last very long. I might be able to retain this level of strength for a few hours, but come morning I'll be vulnerable again. I'd also like you to teach me dueling."

"Why would I submit myself to hours of your torturous presence if I don't have to?" the professor fumed, "If you continue your independent study you will eventually be able to protect your mind this way all of the time. You don't need my instruction; you have proven that quite easily." Professor Snape seemed caught between the urge to sulk and his standard reserved persona.

"Perhaps you don't want this wonderful paradise you call life to change. After all you get to teach ungrateful brats all day, risk your life all night, and hide under a rock as best you can during the summer. I wonder why you allow the Headmaster and the Dark Lord to treat you like a ping pong ball." Harry calmly sat in the student's chair that was obviously rarely used. Snape looked ready to kill him.

"Mr. Potter, get to the point or get out, I don't have time for this inane chatter." Harry jumped up suddenly.

"That is exactly my point, sir! You have no time for anything. So long as the Dark Lord lives you are an underappreciated slave to two masters. If you want freedom or recognition or any kind of reward for what you have done then the Dark Lord must die. You can kill him. Your talent, your knowledge, your abilities, and your hand can bring him down. The prophesy says that I have to deal the death blow, but the Headmaster has made it clear to me that I am merely a tool. Have you ever heard of Phantom of the Opera?" Harry asked suddenly as he paced back and forth in front of the stunned man.

"No, I dislike listening to people sing in languages that I do not understand," Snape replied, stunned by the question.

"It's a book and play in English." Harry explained, "The Phantom is a musical genius, but he has been disfigured when his opera was stolen as he went to print it. He is labeled a social outcast. He trains a young woman named Christine to sing as a part of an overly elaborate plan for revenge. From there it degrades into a rather uninspiring cliché romance, but there is a song that sums up their relationship. In it they sing together about how it is really the Phantom on the stage singing through Christine – she is the mask he wears, but it is his spirit on the stage. If I am to be nothing more then a tool then at least I can choose whose hands I'm in. Teach me everything you know." The caustic potions master was leaning forward in his chair, hanging off every word waiting for the catch. "I can kill the Dark Lord but not by accident and not without training."

"You want me to teach you how to kill?" Harry nodded at the whispered question. "Somehow I doubt the Headmaster would allow anything of the sort." Snape dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand.

"The Dark Lord and the Headmaster are responsible for turning me into a killer, and they are doing a bang-up job of it. I want you to teach me dueling. Professor Dupont may know his stuff, but no one can understand him through his accent. I already know most of what he's teaching because the DA, but I need more. I need faster-paced practical lessons without any coddling. The Order of the Phoenix seems to believe that the next time Voldemort attacks – sorry sir, I didn't mean to say his name – I'll be able to pull a rabbit out of my hat and the rabbit will swallow the Dark Lord and all of his followers whole. Then it will burp up those under the Imperious curse and anyone else who isn't really evil." Harry plopped back into the uncomfortable chair. "It will not happen and I am rather attached to my life, pathetic and empty though it may be, and I need to find someone who isn't too worried about my mental and physical well being to teach me what I need."

"You are serious," Professor Snape said, stunned. "You will have to do exactly as I tell you to do and not whine, argue, or contradict me." Harry nodded and the dark man's eyes clouded over for a moment. He seemed to be debating something. "The Dark Arts are multi-faceted, mutating, and indestructible. They are as dangerous to the user as to the victim when abused."

"Professor, if I wanted Remus to coach me through how to disarm someone without hurting them I would have asked him. I want to learn how to defend against a deadly sadist, not a friendly father figure. Then again I should probably guard myself against them, too. Danger comes in so many forms these days." Harry paused and glanced over to see if he'd overstepped again. It was a delicate dance, being forceful and sarcastic enough for Snape to take him seriously while staying respectful and subservient enough to avoid the man's temper. The dark man seemed to be deciding who was being insulted in Harry's last outburst. Before the professor could decide, Harry continued in a resigned voice. "The Headmaster doesn't believe I can do any occlumency yet. If we are going to be forced into each other's company anyway, we might as well make the experience as pleasant and productive as possible. Assuming the rumors are true, you will get to teach the subject you really want a crack at and I can pour myself up to my eyeballs in my favorite subject. We would both be working to free ourselves from impending doom – that's a hobby I've picked up and don't mind sharing. It's a win-win situation ending with a dead Dark Lord and a pair of Order of Merlin, First Class medals."

"A pair of them? A bit greedy, aren't you, Mr. Potter."

"I meant one for each of us, Professor. I haven't forgotten that you saved my life in first year, jumped in front of a werewolf for me in third, or any of the other things you have done not only to save my ungrateful neck, but the entire school. I am willing to take a wizard's oath that, if you will teach me to defend myself, I will do everything in my power to see that you get proper recognition for what you have done." A fire lit in Snape's black eyes, and Harry was glad his hunch was right. Snape just wanted a little respect, his reaction at the end of Harry's third year made that clear enough. "With Tom dead at my feet I doubt the ministry could deny my a few favors, if it even came to that." For a moment it looked like the gaunt man might smile, but then he curled his long fingers around Harry's outstretched hand in a vice-like grip.

"I, Harry James Potter, swear an oath on my mother's grave that once the Dark Lord is dead I will do everything in my power to ensure that Professor Severus Snape receives the credit he is due for his work for the Order of the Phoenix." A white spark sprang into existence near their clasped hands and started orbiting around them. "I will ensure that he is credited with my extracurricular training." Another spark popped into being and the pair spun faster around the joined hands. "I will make public the times you have saved my life." Three sparks spun so fast Harry could barely tell them apart. "Finally," Harry interrupted Snape, who had opened him mouth to start his part, "I will do all I can to keep Professor Snape out of Azkaban when the other Death Eaters are rounded up by the authorities. All of this I swear I will do when the Dark Lord is dead." The gaunt man had gone pale at the mention of the prison, and it took a moment before he could continue.

"I, Severus Tobias Snape, agree to train Harry James Potter to the best of my ability so that he can defeat the Dark Lord." The six sparks spun for a few moments, speeding up until it became a silvery band of light. "If these lessons prove impossible to continue, then let this magical contract be null and void."

"Let nothing else interfere with this oath's magic." Harry said as the silver band contracted. As the words left his lips the dim band surged with power and was shot through with white streaks. It remained for a moment, braiding around their hands.

"This we swear." They said together and the swirling magic melted into their arms.

"What prompted that last, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked, stepping back behind his desk.

"I'm not sure, something just felt wrong about it."

"You just took a very one-sided oath submitting to my tender mercies for as long as it takes to force some sense into that quaffle you call a head. If any of it felt right then you are more foolish then I previously imagined." Snape sighed.

"You've never lied to me, as far as I know, and I don't see any reason not to return the favor. I can't explain how I know things – I can just tell you that I know when something isn't quite right. It's how I manage to get so lucky all the time."

"How such a disorganized mind could even partially master occlumency I'll never know," Snape said as he dropped into his chair, "but if you need the theory I'll teach you theory. Pull out some parchment and a quill; I will not repeat myself." Harry rushed to comply. He didn't get back to the dorm until late night.

* * *

A/N: Review, please - positive or negative I love them both! 


	16. Interlude

**16 Interlude  
**

Harry used the time-turner again that weekend, determined not to give Snape any excuse to turn his training into any more of a living hell than it was. His hand was still cramped from writing so fast when he went to breakfast! Every time a thought crossed Harry's mind that maybe the sarcastic professor wasn't all bad he'd remember the insults heaped upon him over the years. One evening of working together most defiantly wasn't going to fix things between them, but at least they had proven they could work together without killing each other.

He also spent a few hours studying the finance books Griphook had recommended. Apparently Uncle Vernon's grumbling about money and work had taught him more than he realized, as he found himself comparing Vernon's opinion with the books and finding that the man seemed good with money. Then again, he'd have to be with the grocery and toy budget Dudley had demanded. Harry compared several year-end statements to see the sorts of things the financial planners had been doing with his money. The goblins were, unsurprisingly, very talented, and with the help of a dead simple explanation given by one of the books from his family vault Harry was feeling much better about managing his investments. His research revealed that when it came to his seats on the board, it would be perfectly within his rights to let the highly qualified people who had been managing things for the past decade and a half continue without his input. So long as there wasn't a tie vote he needed to break or the chairman demanded his presence he could be a silent partner. It would cut his theoretical income if he officially renounced his active participation, as he wouldn't be paid for time he didn't give them, but he would still have quite a bit and it didn't seem necessary unless demanded.

It was a great relief to pick up the violin case when the endless charts and figures started blurring together. Despite the fact that resuming his musical hobby was a spur of the moment decision, it was fast becoming one of his best. He was sure he would have gone insane from all the studying he was doing; it was amazing he hadn't burnt out from all the stress. His violin playing was also getting better. The magic in the violin didn't have to work very hard at all for some simple songs, and so, restless as ever, it started poking around in memories not related to his elementary school music classes. At times the memories would direct the mood of his playing, but more often than not they would completely distract him. The violin told him it didn't mean to be a bother, but it couldn't help digging for things. Harry decided to keep pushing himself with harder songs to keep the trips down memory lane to a minimum.

It was also a Hogsmeade weekend, the second this year, and the first since the announcement of the big Valentine's Day Ball. When Harry left his two days of quiet seclusion he was submerged in a hectic storm of excitement. He and Ron pushed through the crowded streets to Honeydukes. It wasn't long before Ron started complaining about being pushed and shoved by the crowd.

"Even the Three Broomsticks is a zoo," Ron moaned.

"Come on Ron, it's fun! I've never seen Hogsmeade so crowded," Harry replied, slapping Ron on the shoulder. "Between the annual post-Halloween sale, all the family members who dropped in to help with Ball shopping, and the political convention, everyone just has to pack in a little tighter. Oh! Look, it's a sale on summer cloaks."

"What is wrong with you, mate?" Ron whines as Harry shoved through a crowd to get into the shop, "It is November, you can't possibly need a summer cloak now."

"Ron, I love what your mom does for me, but did you see the cloak she picked out for me when she did my school shopping?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with it?" Ron asked as Harry dove into the rack.

"I don't own any bright red clothes besides my Quidditch uniform, that's what is wrong with it. Besides, bright red makes me look pale and sickly when I wear too much of it. What do you think of this one?" Harry tossed a cloak a few shades lighter than the brown outfit he was wearing over one shoulder.

"Who are you and what have you done with my best mate?" Ron deadpanned. Hermione's bushy head popped out from between the racks followed by a few Ravenclaw girls Harry vaguely remembered her hanging out with in the D.A.

"That looks great, Harry," chimed one of the older Ravenclaws. Harry wracked his brain for the ice-blonde's name.

"It looks really good over the brown and black," a girl with sandy curls chimed in.

"Thank you both," Harry replied, slipping into his best charming grin. "I can't believe I missed the last Hogsmeade weekend studying, but there weren't so many great sales on then, anyway." Harry rooted through the racks looking for something more colorful than the impossible-to-muck-up, highly-interchangeable earth-tone wardrobe he'd rushed through buying in Diagon Alley.

"I didn't know you liked shopping so much, Harry," Hermione wondered aloud.

"His brains have been scrambled," Ron whined, "or he's under some kind of Slytherin spell." The redhead received several rolled eyes and a cuff to the back of the head from Harry.

"I have not had my brains scrambled," Harry asserted, hanging the puke-green shirt he'd hit Ron with back where it had come from. "If you don't like shopping with me then go back to the castle." Ron sputtered a moment, the girls closing in to offer their opinions on the things Harry had selected in other shops and items he was considering from the rack.

"I'm going to go play some chess with Dean…" Ron muttered and stormed away from the overwhelming estrogen concentration. It wasn't long before Harry left the twittering girls and headed for another shop. He wasn't all that interested in helping them pick out their ball gowns. Sure, it was fun for a while, but he could only look at so many different kinds of lace before feeling deeply grateful for not having to wear any himself.


	17. Snogging Politics

**17 Snogging Politics  
**

Hermione had never fit in with other girls well, and it was nice to see she found a group that didn't make fun of her bushy hair and vast knowledge of all and sundry. The girls had enjoyed having a willing male victim to foist clothes upon, and Hermione's bossy nature coupled with her close friendship made for a complete disregard for Harry's personal space without much protest from either end. He had a vague impression that more than one of the gaggle had asked him to the Yule Ball back in fourth year, and a stronger feeling that they expected him to do the asking this time around.

Harry didn't buy very much of anything, even after a full morning of shopping. A few odds and ends he found himself needing, essentials like a new toothbrush and some shampoo one of the girls thought might help his hair behave properly. A quick stop at a music shop won him a magical version of a portable tape player. Cheap glass beads full of magically captured sound fit into a pair of earmuffs. The sound quality was pretty poor even compared to cheap muggle headphones, but he only wanted it to learn to play the songs himself. He'd picked the beads rather randomly, mostly based off the shopkeeper's suggestions. There was one that the young witch tried to talk him out of, but Victory Not Vengeance was a name he could get behind even if it wasn't the right sort of music for a 'student of music.' It all fit into his pockets with very few shrinking spells involved.

The political convention looked interesting from a distance, but Harry wanted to get some lunch before he dived in. He spared a quick moment in a busy public bathroom to put his 'disguise' from the summer on. Make-up and bandanna in place, highly recognizable Gryffindor scarf stuffed in his bag, and a very low power Notice-Me-Not spell turned Harry into Tyler. He didn't need to be unrecognizable today, but there was a possibility he could get roped into a heated debate if he walked around blatantly as the Boy-Who-Lived. It was an ounce of prevention to calm his nerves, and not a sign that Moody's paranoia was rubbing off on him.

He hoped that was true, in any case.

He picked one of the small cafes he'd never been in before, reveling in the small feeling of exploration. Since he was alone he was given a seat at a long bar that wrapped around one side of the room, though the place didn't seem to serve alcohol. A coffee slid to a stop in front of him almost as soon as he sat down, a tiny cup of cream and pot of sugar coming behind at a more sedate pace. Harry smiled, the chill wind making the hot drink look good even when he'd never been much for coffee. It smelled good as it was so he decided to try it black. He then hastily snatched back the retreating cream and fixed the reject potion before the acidic brew could burn through the cup.

As he sipped his cream with a spot of coffee he scanned the menu for something without red meat. He'd just about decided what he wanted when a hand tapped his shoulder. A young man with sandy hair, lightly tanned skin, and a bright red shirt smiled as he sat down next to him.

"I thought I recognized that bandanna; I've been looking for it all morning" the man said. "I'm taking the day off for the political convention."

"I…," Harry started, completely at a loss. "I was just going that way after lunch."

"Come on, Tyler, you haven't forgotten me so quickly have you?" The man had dark brown eyes – nearly black – and was thin, solid, and tall as a young tree. He tilted his head and gave Harry a very familiar grin.

"From the shop in Diagon Alley! Simon… Sanders… Scott…" Harry tried.

"Samuel," the blond finally took pity on him. "I'm Samuel Peters, the tailor that your major sale got promoted to assistant designer."

"Samuel, right… You got a promotion thanks to me?" Harry asked. Samuel started to answer only to be interrupted by the waitress. Harry ordered quickly, "The grilled cheese and a side salad."

"The chicken special with cranberry for me," Samuel said and shooed the witch away. "All the custom work in the shop is documented. When the boss saw the formal robes I made for you he promoted me on the spot. He called them 'truly inspired' and asked me to come up with a line of formal wear. W.D.W. is a great niche market, but most of the money is made out of the back end. Mr. Smythe thinks I could go places with my designs, maybe even start my own label."

"That's wonderful news."

"All thanks to my inspiration," Samuel whispered close to Harry's ear. Harry shivered and dropped his napkin. "I'm buying your lunch today, and no arguments."

"I don't think I could come up with an argument if pressed for one," Harry joked back, retrieving his napkin with a flick of his wand. Their food arrived, skidding to a stop in front of them. This time Harry spotted the small door it shot out from slide shut at the end of the bar.

"So, what have you been up to? I remember you said something about doing hard training to pass the Auror entrance minimums," Samuel said as they tucked in.

"It's mostly eating my way through a stack of books twice my height right now, but the D.A. has had some challenging duels," Harry said. He _liked_ Samuel, but he didn't know anything about the older man yet.

"That's that new club the Boy-Who-Lived founded isn't it?" When Harry nodded Samuel continued, "Word is that's a nasty piece of work, exclusive entry into the upper levels and all. Is it true that he personally dueled all the applicants before letting them in?"

"No, first the senior members, the group that went into battle in the Department of Mysteries last June, took turns dueling everyone. Then anyone who made the cut had to come back another day and duel two on one. Anyone making it through both trials is in A.I.D., with R.E.D. for the middle set and N.O.D. for the lower years. It's a nightmare to manage, you should see the mountain of statistical data and paperwork used to justify who got placed where," Harry explained absently. The paperwork was a good Arithmancy primer, but certainly wasn't any fun.

"Dueling the hand-picked defenders of Hogwarts," Samuel breathed. "From your tone I'll guess it didn't go so well for a certain future auror." It took a moment for Harry to parse that statement out.

"You… I was in the Department of Mysteries last June, Samuel." The look of shock on the man's face and twirl of memory in his eyes showed that the older man wasn't being deliberately obtuse; he had no clue he was talking to Harry Potter.

"One of Dumbledore's finest," Samuel said, a fork full of chicken dripping orange sauce on his lap from where he held it forgotten halfway to his lips. "Your name isn't Tyler, is it?"

"Because no one named Tyler was reported to be there," Harry reasoned, nervously shoving the last of his salad in his mouth.

"Unless you charm your hair you can't be a Weasley… Or were you left out of the report?" Samuel asked quietly. "I can see why you'd be keeping your head down. Plenty of people wouldn't like that sort of thing being hushed up, but being in the paper like that would make you a target." It occurred to Harry, a bit late, that Samuel knew that he was gay and could easily go to the papers with that tidbit for some fast publicity. Honesty might be his natural _modus operandi_, but it was about to bite him in the butt. Something out of his Potter book floated to the front of his mind: 'It is only damage control if you fail to make the best of it. Embrace the unexpected and make it work to your advantage. Anything less is cowardice.'

"Why don't we take a walk?" Harry asked, hoping to change the subject. Any moment now Samuel was going to remember that Harry Potter had bright green eyes, though he seemed a bit too… air-headed wasn't quite the right word for it. He was a bit thick about this sort of thing, clearly, as Harry's disguise wasn't all that great. Thank Merlin and all the fates the Prophet had been using photos from the Triwizard tournament. Ron said something about the bright red and gold Triwizard outfit being more dramatic. "I don't know anything about politics, you know. I'm just trying to force my way through a self-made crash-course in life skills. I can pick your brain about politics along the way."

"I'd love to take a walk with you," Samuel purred and rested a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You just tell me if I'm coming on too strong for you straight off, I don't want this ending like it did last time." Harry nodded and waited for Samuel to pay for the meal.

"So," Samuel started when they reached the edge of the convention area, "when you say you don't know anything about politics how uninformed are you on a scale of 'I read a newspaper once in a while' to 'I spent the majority of my life hidden under a rock?'"

"When it comes to the British _Wizarding_ Government? I'm under a rock in a dark cave on a small island in the Pacific," Harry deadpanned.

"That's fairly extreme; and the proper form is The Magical Government of Great Brittan when speaking about theory and practice."

"Well, that just proves my point. I've got no real family left thanks to the last war and I'm muggle-raised. Even if they wanted to spend the time to teach me about politics and government, and understand that they try not to be in the same room with me if they can help it, the people I live with couldn't tell me anything about the magical world."

"So you need the full primer. Well, the current election season is for a new Minister of Magic. The Minister is both the chief clerk in the Ministry and the leader of the law enforcement services."

"Do you know about Muggle government?"

"No, I'm pureblood back… oh, not as far as some, but to the early 1500's."

"Muggles have a Ministry, I learned about it in Primary School – that starts at age five for Muggles and goes up until Hogwarts age. I think the two are fairly identical."

"That's cute of them. The ministry, in general, upholds the rule of law. In times of crisis the Minister and his immediate subordinates can issue Special Orders, but that is as close to making the law as he'll ever get. Special Orders are almost always time-limited and situation-specific. The Wizengammot reviews them and can repeal them retroactively if they are decided to be overreaching. Are you with me so far?" Samuel asked. He was certainly easy to listen to, and Harry nodded.

"Yes. Is the Wizengammot the judicial or legislative branch of government?" Harry side-stepped a group of giggling old ladies as they walked around the outer ring of booths. The square was packed tight. Banners for different political factions – there seemed to be a great number of them – filled the air above the stalls; if Harry didn't know better he'd think it was some kind of open-air discount market like the ones Aunt Petunia pretended she was too good to ever shop in.

"The who or the what?" Samuel stopped short and looked at Harry oddly. A plump couple collided with them from behind and it took a moment for the four to sort themselves out. They scooted over to a gap between the booths to get out of traffic for a moment.

"Legislative: the branch for representatives that make the law. Judicial: the branch for courts to interpret and judge the law," Harry provided. Samuel laughed and started walking again.

"It's both. Muggles separate the two? That's bazaar. The Wizengammot is the high court; small disputes are privately counseled between the interested parties and their solicitors. Those settlements are then audited by an available member of the Wizengammot on each full and new moon." Samuel stopped walking, and Harry supposed that one of the nearby booths was their intended destination. It seemed a little less frenzied in this part of the convention. "Even for more serious disputes very few cases are tried with the full court in attendance, one or three judges for most anything. Full meetings are usually for lawmaking. The trials for murder and treason are noted exceptions. Got it?"

"I got it. So, how is a new Minister elected?"

"Purebloods, because we have grown up in the magical world and know its culture well, can vote in all elections starting at age seventeen. Muggleborns can vote starting at age twenty. I think they can apply for sufferage if they take an extra class or something like that." Samuel trailed off for a moment. "Halfbloods might get to vote at the same time as purebloods, but I'm not sure. I don't know about, well, people like you who were raised muggle but aren't muggle born. You can always contact the family registry at the Ministry to see what your status is, and you could ask at Hogwarts about that class."

"There is a family registry at the Ministry?"

"Of course there is! The Department of Genealogical Studies is one of the original departments from when the Ministry was founded. Prior to that it was the Magical Family Society, which was more of a social club for rich housewives. It dates back almost as far as Hogwarts, but its records aren't perfect. Fires, wars, and political maneuvering have made it notoriously unreliable for anything back more than six generations. Even then, the data can get a little dodgy. Take my family for example: My father is very proud of the Peters name and has a family record going back centuries, but the D. of G. doesn't list my paternal great-great-grandfather because he spent several years living with non-humans and was accepted into their culture. At the time, you couldn't be listed in both the human and partial-human registries even as an immigrant or liaison, so they just dumped his information in a bin."

"So, they keep census data, birth and death records, and stuff like that."

"Exactly. Don't muggles do that too?"

"They do, but I think it's organized by location instead of family. I heard something about the last census on the radio… Something about the U.K. overtopping fifty-five million people." Samuel nearly fell over laughing. He clutched at the stand next to him in a desperate attempt to stay on his feet.

"What's all this about?" asked a horse-faced witch working the stand. "Do you think the Fisherman's Rights Committee is a laughing matter? I'll have you know that without us you wouldn't have very much to eat!" Her screeching voice sounded a lot like Aunt Petunia on helium.

"No… No ma'am," Samuel gasped out. "It's my friend here. He's been stuck in the muggle world a while and he… Well he clearly heard wrong about the muggle census!"

"What did you hear?" the woman asked, pinning Harry with a sharp stare.

"That the United Kingdom is over fifty-five million strong now. I think that was the number, anyway… It was my housemate listening to the radio," Harry lied. Then again, perhaps he should consider the Dursleys housemates rather than family.

"Sounds about right to me," the woman shrugged. "That's why the F.R.C. is so important! A lot of our product goes to the muggle markets. They can't use spells to keep fish fresh without freezing it, so they are more willing to pay a higher price for never-frozen fish products. The F.R.C. is lobbying for the rights of magical fishermen to have corporate accounts in muggle banks to make running our businesses easier and more above-board on the muggle end. It makes sense, that. After all, muggles outnumber us about a hundred and twenty to one." She trailed off, rummaging through a box in front of her.

"They… they do?" Samuel's face had lost all its color. "That's… No, that can't be right."

"I have a pamphlet here with all the pertinent information, and references if you want to bother with looking them up yourself to confirm. Most people don't bother knowing things like this, but it's vitally important to our trade and supply lines!" She was clearly on a roll with some rehearsed lines now, and waving around a pack of parchment, "Since magical Brittan only numbers half a million souls, we must be certain that we keep our supply lines dealing in raw material providers open and competitive. We don't have the raw bulk purchasing power of other groups, nor do we have the reach and resources to be fully self-sufficient since the Imperial days are over. We must ensure that fish and other products can make it to markets both outside the magical community and outside of Brittan, and also that metal ore and other raw materials can flow in from those markets. When the Empire was still strong, we had some chance of being more insular and surviving. Now, we must be able to compete in a global market!"

"I… I didn't know there were so many muggles…" Samuel breathed after a few disbelieving moments.

"I didn't know there were so few wizards!" Harry countered. "Is there… I mean, well, did Grindelwald or You-Know-Who take out that many people…" Harry started. "Is it just how it's always been?"

"Far as I know," the horsey woman started, "it's a matter of procreation. The fertility rate for magical women is much lower than for muggle women. They just have more babies than we do, and have done for ages."

"A hundred and… I never… "Samuel seemed to have drifted off somewhere inside himself. Harry dug into the pamphlets while the fishy woman latched onto a set of older witches. The F.R.C. seemed to have a great deal of research behind their political positions. Tables of statistics showing productivity, market price, and other pertinent information filled several sheets, and the text referenced them constantly. They stood for increased corporate freedom, allowing magical businesses to have more open dealings directly with muggles. The major opposing arguments were addressed and written off, as most of it was based in the statute of secrecy and pureblood rhetoric. So long as the business in question hired half-bloods, muggleborns, or purebloods with an O on their N.E.W.T.s in Muggle studies to handle the muggle end of things there would be no risk of breaking the Statute. Most of the businesses did this already, as a matter of necessity, because only half-bloods or muggleborns could easily open muggle bank accounts.

Most of it was stuff Harry would never need to know, but it highlighted something he'd been coming to realize about himself: he had no idea how the magical world worked. The idea that the premium, never-frozen, direct from the ship fish that Aunt Petunia preferred was caught and transported magically never entered his mind. The idea that Hogwarts was Brittan's only formal magical school had never fully translated over to there being a lot fewer magical children than muggle ones. How much of this stuff did Hermione know? How much did Ron know, or his family? The pamphlet said 'It is a tragedy that these facts are suppressed by political forces: that muggles have greater economic power due to their numbers, that the current legal and political climate makes turning that buying power to our advantage difficult, and that muggle-born and half-blood wizards are choosing lives outside our culture because of this.' Was that truth, or opinion?

"This is really in-depth," Harry said at last.

"What is?" Samuel asked, snapping out of his thoughts.

"All this data… There's tons of raw numbers in here. More than I can handle in one sitting, anyway.

"Do you buy it?" Samuel prompted. "Or does it look a little off?"

"It looks straight to me. I've been doing some reading on economics too, so I can start managing my inheritance properly when I come of age. I can't say I understand everything, but this part," Harry pulled out one of the sheets, "has a breakdown of everything." Samuel scanned it quickly.

"I… Well I can't say that would be the only solution to their issue, and having direct dealings with muggles always threatens the Statute, but there we have it, then. Muggle outnumber us a hu… a hundred and twenty to one," he stuttered.

"I'd like to know more about this, and not the economic or the fish stuff. The Genealogical group you mentioned before, do they have a booth here? Do you know about how families are registered and that sort of thing?" Harry pinned Samuel with a hard look. Malfoy and his lot were always going on about blood purity, and after all… "It occurs to me that while I hate Death Eaters for personal reasons, they did come out of a legitimate political faction at some point in history and I don't know what the blood purists stand for."

"Blood purists are radicals," Samuel answered, a look on his face like a deer in headlights, "but there are moderates that agree with some of their views. What you want is The Memorandum of 1952. My… My father has an original printing hanging in his office. He never supported You-Know-Who, but he and my grandfather were both supporters of The Memorandum." Harry could hear the capitol letters in Samuel's voice. "Most purebloods can be defined as agreeing with The Memorandum or not, according to my father, with the leftovers being carted off and locked away."

"Where can I get a copy?" He ignored Samuel's failure to mention his own opinions.

"It had gone out of vogue, because of the Death Eaters using it and all, but it's around again. I'll show you the booth I was aiming at, then we'll head over to the purist section."

"You know," the horsey woman spoke up, startling the pair of them, "I know where you can get some serious information about that sort of thing," her voice dropped to a whisper, "not that I agree with any of it. It's none of my never mind, and not all their numbers are above board, you understand." Harry would lay bets the F.R.C. was run by a load of Ravenclaw number crunchers judging by this woman, and leaned in to hear what she had to say. He preferred number-obsessed fact checkers to the lunacy he'd handled with most of the adults in his life. "The Safety Council of Southern England, booth 34 row 8, right in the heart of purist territory. Don't dare mention your time in the muggle world while you are there, young man, or you might find a bad end. Go in, grab their information, listen a bit if you are brave and cynical enough to handle the rambling, and get out."

"You'll watch my back, Samuel? It's a public place after all. It can't be too dangerous."

"For the sake of greater knowledge," he agreed. The woman echoed the statement and nodded in approval. Ah, yes, Ravenclaws for certain.

"It's always best to know both sides of a thing," Harry started, "and I seem to have missed a big part of the whole business."

"Alright then, keep your head down and follow me. We'll be out and on neutral ground again in a shake. Then we'll find somewhere and I can tell you what I know of it all."

As Harry followed Samuel, he noticed that the booths were color-coded. Neutral booths had blue and grey ribbons on them. The F.R.C. and other booths that pushed for dealings with muggles were marked in shades of yellow, mostly for economic reasons. Red and green ribbons hung from purist booths. There wasn't a strict organization, but they seemed to have clumped into like-minded groups with noticeable friction on the edges. One extremely loud booth they passed had a bright red banner proclaiming the presence of the Forward Thinkers. A man in shimmering gold robes was loudly and rapidly arguing the wisdom of leaving the past in the past and moving on with life.

"Historical revisionists," Samuel whispered when he saw where Harry was looking. His tone was rather like what he imagined Molly Weaslely would sound like talking about a prostitute. "They want the whole business with You-Know-Who written out of the history books, along with the Blood Skirmishes and a bunch of mess in between."

"Blood Skirmishes?" Harry asked, and received a shocked expression.

"Not here," Samuel ordered and led on.

The Safety Council, when Harry saw them, seemed like a decent enough lot. Housewives, from the look of them, some with a baby in a sling or floating bassinet, were the primary group loitering around. He nearly bolted when he saw Narcissa Malfoy discussing a pamphlet titled 'The Safety of Children' with a group of well-dressed women. He laid a hand on Samuel's shoulder so he could look the other way without running into anything.

"Someone I know," he explained and got a hum of acknowledgement. Samuel snatched up one of everything from the table, as well as the tables on either side, without breaking his stride. They then weaved through the crowd until the booths were lined with yellow and blue and found an empty bench to claim. They dug into the papers immediately, wading through political double speak to pick out the 'facts' being presented. Samuel produced a quill from somewhere and started scribbling in the margins and underlining important statements. There was a copy of The Memorandum, but Samuel scoffed at it and said it was a revised version and not the original.

"It was a big thing when You-Know-Who was first rising to power that the number of pureblood families, according to their definition, was being halved every other generation for the last few centuries." Samuel explained after they had gone through most of the literature. "I remember my mother going on about it when I was little. I think _they_ only count families that are ten generations pure, or maybe fifteen. Legally, it's all about the grandparents. Four magical grandparents and one magical great-grandparent is the minimum to be considered pureblooded by the law. Less than that, but more than one magical grandparent makes someone a half-blood. Less than that, and the child is a muggleborn."

"Wait, so if a wizard marries a muggle, the child is obviously half-blood, but if that child marries a muggle, the child is muggleborn even though one of his or her parents is magical? And, if two muggle-born people from all muggle backgrounds marry, their grandchildren will be halfbloods unless one of their kids marries into an older family?" Harry asked.

"Well, yes, according to current magical law. It's been changed a few times but as far as I know the current law is the one we keep going back to in the end. These papers are pushing for stricter definitions of purebloods and…"

"In my first example," Harry cut him off, "the child with one magical grandparent. That kid can't vote until he turns twenty, right?" Harry asked, outrage at the filth he'd been reading for the last half hour coloring his tone.

"Well, like I said before, you can petition for sufferage at the ministry for stuff like that, but essentially that is correct."

"According to this," Harry pulled out one of the less offensive texts and held it up expectantly, "The pureblood families are outnumbered by half-blood and muggle-born households three to one, with the numbers rising steadily since the Blood Skirmishes of the 1720's."

"Reverse witch burnings," Samuel supplied, "It was right around the time the Statute went into effect. Purebloods targeted any muggle-born and sometimes half-blood witch or wizard who was going to marry into a pureblood family. The Blood Skirmishes were a series of attacks, over nearly a hundred years, revolving around preventing pure blood being diluted. There was a hard push to restrict marriage rights in certain cases. For example, the last son of a pureblood family would be prevented from marrying a muggle-born."

"Like my father," Harry said before he could stop himself. "They'd have stopped him marrying my Mum." The words came out in an angry hiss.

"You are… the last of your family?" Samuel asked delicately.

"I have some muggle relations I'd rather forget."

"A purist attitude, that," he joked, but Harry was in no mood to laugh at it. He glared at Samuel a full minute before continuing.

"They have the same view of magic most purists have of muggle science. They don't understand it, and it scares them, so they want it kept as far from them as they can get it. I don't hate them for being muggle; I hate them for being bigots, among other crimes against decency."

"As the last of a magical line, you have special rights," Samuel nearly whispered. "Going back to the voting issue, you should have full rights as an adult as soon as you can prove independence. Male orphans become head of their household and gain full rights from the day they claim independence regardless of age. You could emancipate yourself today, if you can prove financial means and adequate housing. Paying rent to your muggle relations would count, are they aren't part of your family's house under magical law." Harry felt like he'd been hit with a sledgehammer.

"I'd be a full adult, able to vote and cast magic as I liked, so long as I have an income and paid rent to someone? Even if I was twelve?"

"You could have done it any time after your parents died when you had sufficient income and housing," he confirmed, relaxing back into his role as a portable library. "I don't know all the particulars, but one of my father's friends went through it after the war. Not that it is likely you would have had sufficient income at twelve…"

"I have a trust fund making nearly a million Galleons a year, which I can't touch until I'm emancipated, and a personal account receiving an allowance that I couldn't spend if I tried." He had never said it out loud, and now that he had he was forced into accepting it. He was filthy rich, and could have ignored the laws on underage sorcery his whole time at Hogwarts so long as he gave his uncle enough to constitute reasonable rent.

"Oh," Samuel pulled up short. "That would be enough."

"It's more than I know how to deal with. I just found out about it this summer. It's like I said, my relatives don't care to know anything about the magical world other than that it got my Mum killed."

"Hence the shopping spree?"

"I've always done with second-hand castoffs, the only things I ever had new was for school. I thought my personal account was the whole thing, and that I'd have to save it to get a flat or something when I came of age. When I realized I had more than that, and a house somewhere as well, I figured I'd indulge in a few things."

"A millionaire slumming it because he didn't know what he had... Sounds like a good book. Don't you have a magical guardian or advocate? These people," Samuel gestured to the papers laying half-forgotten spread out across their laps, "have made sure that the magical government doesn't trust muggle to handle things. You should have an advocate in the Department of Genealogical Studies. They handle magical orphans and ensure they grow up knowing who they are and what is expected of them. As last of your family, and a family in good standing considering your financials, they should have been all over your case ensuring you grew up knowing your place in our world."

"Early indoctrination, you mean," Harry scoffed.

"Not at all! My father works in the D. of G. and most everyone there is dedicated to factual reality. Fudge's recent policies have gotten a lot of the Department laid off, and I don't mind saying the replacements won't be likely to have the same views, but we're the right sort of purebloods. Don't lump us in with this lot!" Samuel growled, slapping the papers.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know… The whole point of all this is I don't know enough about the magical world. So, the Department of Genealogical Studies has been a moderate faction recently, or historically?"

"Historically, it has been run by purists," Samuel conceded. "It has been moderate since the 1930's when a group of outraged housewives started shouting about how all the political editing of the records was distorting or destroying the truth about family lines and endangering our society by allowing inbreeding. There was a huge controversy about some high-society wedding where the bride and groom didn't know they were related and the D. of G. didn't flag their marriage license because of improperly revised records. Since then, the Genealogical records have been held sacred against all forms of tampering. It's strictly who, where, and when for them. My father has been head of the department for years, and prides himself on the accuracy of the records. Child Services is a division of his department, under his indirect supervision through Madam Lucree, who is his secretary and head of the Child Services division."

"Never heard of any of them, and never knew there was a magical Child Services department. There is a muggle version, and I tried contacting them once, but they couldn't find any records told me I shouldn't tell lies about important things like that."

"Lies about what? It's a rather off-color prank to pull, calling Child Services in over nothing."

"There are no muggle records for my parent's marriage, my birth, my mother's school records past primary, or my father's entire existence. They thought I was making it all up."

"Oh… so, the muggles don't have any way of counting us in their census?"

"If you are thinking they counted us in their census numbers and inflated them somewhat, you would be wrong."

"Damn…"

"So," Harry said after a few more minutes of reading, "we never made it to wherever you were taking me in the first place."

"Right," Samuel said, then jumped like he had been kicked. "Of course, of course! We haven't been to the Traditionals yet. That will settle everything."

"It will settle what things?" Harry wished Samuel would stop attracting attention to them while he was elbow-deep in pure blood propaganda.

"These silly misunderstandings, that's what. You knew nothing of magical politics by your own admission other than 'some wankers got together a while ago and killed a bunch of people including my parents,' right? All you've been exposed to is The Boy Who Lived in that club and this mess of half-truth I've shown you today. It's all extremes, and isn't representing the average wizard at all. What you _need_, what I should have shown you from the start with no distractions, is the Traditional Wizard Committee. They make up forty percent of all voters, as far as registration is concerned. They don't front up a candidate of their own, or haven't done in ages, but they do petition the Wizengammont regularly for whatever issues the people want resolved."

"Hold on a second," Harry said, gathering up the discarded papers. "This is the largest political party in the country?"

"Well, they don't hold many parties, but they are the largest political group and most active lobbyists for moderate demands," Samuel proclaimed as if it was some grand achievement.

"They don't endorse a candidate for Minister of Magic or for anything?"

"Well, more than half the seats on the Wizengammont are inherited, so there is no election for them. For the elected seats I think I was a kid the last time a candidate was endorsed by the Traditionals. One of the London chairs was up, so even as a kid I was forced into knowing about it." He smiled ruefully, still missing Harry's point by a mile.

"You are telling me the most politically powerful group in the country has no representation in government." Harry shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. "That they _choose_ not to have any representation, and instead lobby from outside the system and hope the people who they did not choose will change their minds."

"The lobbyists have a direct impact on making law."

"People writing the laws have direct impact on making the law. People begging for attention on the other side of a closed door do not."

"Tyler, it's far more complicated than that."

"Is there anything that says lobbyists in magical government must be consulted, or that a certain number have to agree, before the Wizengammont takes action on any scale?"

"It isn't part of the process in abstract theory, but in practice no law is written without someone consulting a lobbyist. Muggles must do things very differently if you don't know about how lobbying works."

"In muggle politics, lobbyists are employed by special interest groups, like large companies or professional associations. Legally, they are allowed to voice their opinions in the hope of swaying a vote. Often, they bribe politicians in direct violation of the law, swaying their actions with greed rather than the public good they are sworn to uphold. There is a major political controversy in the muggle world right now about restricting how lobbyists are allowed to operate because of all the corruption surrounding them."

"It's politics, of course it's corrupt," Samuel replied. "Better to band together and create the deepest purse than stand alone and be bought out." Harry gaped at Samuel for several moments as the taller man grew steadily more uncomfortable. "You're an idealist, obviously."

"I like to think I'm a pragmatist. If something is broken, you don't learn to use it broken, you get it fixed. That's practical, logical thinking in action."

"Who says our system is broken?" Samuel shouted.

"You just did!" Harry shouted right back, "You said it's corrupt. The purpose of government is to serve the people who give it strength. Without the people, government has no purpose. Without government, the people are unprotected. Corrupt lobbyists break down that system, rewarding governing bodies that hurt the people. In corrupt political systems, very little gets done because no real debate is going on. There is never a meeting of the minds to decide on the greatest good for the crown and her people, only a meeting of purses trying to buy one another out. A hundred reasonable men set to do a job might chose plan A based on sound reasoning, but add in bribes or back room agreements and half of them might vote for plan B even though it is wasteful or ineffective. That's first year politics, and that's why these radical and extremist groups that _you say_ do not represent this culture have so much power and command the _majority_ of the political stage. It's no great mystery to me why half-bloods and muggleborns are abandoning magical Brittan. If you took half a moment to look at your alternatives, you'd skip town too!" Harry finished, realizing that he had drawn a bit of a crowd.

"Here, here!" muttered a few of those gathered, "Upstart mudblood," was heard from the back, but most everyone there actually looked thoughtful.

"I thought you didn't know anything about…"

"Primary school, Samuel," Harry reminded him, trying to edge away from the mess he'd made. "I learned most of that before I could look over a counter without a stool."

"Where is this Primary academy?" a woman with two small boys asked suddenly. "I've been looking for a good day school or sitter for my boys. It sounds like an intensive learning atmosphere."

"Oh, yes, you must tell us. I send my girls to Miss Abbey, but she's getting so old and her memory isn't what it was," a younger woman asked. "It's so hard to get out of the house without her, though."

"Do they charge much?" A third asked almost at the same time; her brown hair stuck up on one side with what appeared to be a candy wrapper in it and several patches on her worn robes.

"I… primary school is free, unless you go to a fancy academy. I mean, I didn't. It was the local community school," Harry babbled, caught off guard by the way the conversation shifted. "It's the first half of the muggle school system, compulsory from age five to age seventeen, unless you transfer to Hogwarts or something."

"Muggle school? They teach _politics_ in muggle school?" a man in blue asked.

"They teach civics. It's all about how society works: who the current minister is, and who came before him, who the queen is, how and why our government is put together the way it is, how voting works and the responsibilities of citizenship, and other stuff like that. It's like history, government, and social responsibility all wrapped together."

"For free," the first woman asked in disbelief.

"Well, it's paid for by our taxes. We also had fund raising drives, like selling cookies or putting on a play, to pay for extra stuff like trips to London or new instruments for the music classes."

"Music and civics…" the young woman muttered, "I wonder if I can enroll my girls."

"Don't be daft!" the poorer woman gasped. "You can't send your kids to associate with muggles."

As the conversation drifted off into an argument over how smart the young woman's girls had to be to remember the Statute of Secrecy, Harry grabbed Samuel and beat a path to freedom.

"You would make a great orator," a raspy voice scared the crap out of Harry. His wand was out and pointed at the old man's nose before he'd finished speaking. "Of course, a career as an auror would fit with those reflexes."

"I got overexcited and lost my head," Harry apologized, lowering his wand. "I hate being stared at."

"You hate being followed more," the old man chuckled. "You can certainly blend into a crowd when you want to. I saw you slide past the Safety Council like a drop of water on glass." Harry's wand lifted slightly. "Wish I could get past them as quickly. I stopped you because I want you to know, it wasn't like this when I was a lad. Once upon a time, the things you said back there wouldn't be swept aside."

"Why doesn't anyone do anything about it?" Harry asked.

"They have. The revisionists your friend seems to hate so much started out with the same outrage you feel some hundred and fifty odd years ago. That unfortunate business with You-Know-Who started with a headstrong young orphan in Slytherin who wallpapered Knockturn Alley with lists of things that ought to be changed. Those are just the big fish, though. About every twenty years, that'd be once every new crop of youngsters who didn't live through the last round, people like you pop up who feel like something needs doing."

"I'm not sure I like you comparing Tyler to… to You-Know-Who," Samuel scoffed.

"Tyler?" the old man smiled brightly. "Well, in any case, you will see one way or another. Grab a good history book, something written before You-Know-Who rose to power and after the first Great War." The man turned and left, leaning heavily on his cane.

"That was creepy," Samuel said as they hurried through the crowd.

"Yeah…" Harry muttered. The man seemed familiar, but he couldn't place it.

"Well, the Traditionals are right over here. We can get back to things that make sense."

"What do the Traditionals stand for?"

"Tradition, obviously; we want stability in the magical world. Of course, change and progress happen as part of life, but we should adapt new things to our way of life. Most of us loosely follow the Old Ways. You know, the eight holy days and the nature spirits our ancestors worshipped. We support the conservation of the natural world, including repelling muggles from sensitive ecologies like dragon preserves. It's all common sense living." Samuel picked up a few leaflets. The Traditionalist party seemed to have thinner stacks of parchment than most other stands.

"Er… I don't know the eight holy days," Harry mumbled while flipping through the thin stack.

"What?" Samuel gasped, visibly startled. "Well, I'm no priest… I think this is something you would have to research on your own, either in a proper text or by visiting a temple. There is one on the south end of town, and a larger one in London near Gringotts."

"It seems every time I fill in one blank I discover three more," Harry laughed, "I suppose I couldn't expect a single afternoon to clear up the mysterious hidden world of wizards any more than the last few years of living alongside it have."

"I should hope not!" Samuel scoffed. "And I would hope you have been living in our world at Hogwarts, unless things are a great deal more segregated between purebloods and muggleborns outside Ravenclaw."

"You make it sound like the moment I got my wand I became part of this world. It's not that easy, Samuel. I don't know if I'm the rule or the exception, but from my experience anyone muggle-born or muggle-raised is on the outside looking in. No one explains anything, really. Things just are the way they are, and we are expected to figure it all out. Hermione seems to have a better grasp of this stuff, but she trips up a lot and that's after devouring stack after stack of books on every subject imaginable. It's more about practical than theoretical study anyway, and Hogwarts classes are all about the theory of how magic works and practicing spells that might be useful to know out of context. Seeing and doing and being in the magical world is the only way to learn what it means to be a wizard as far as I can tell, but everything is so insular."

"Well, let's see and do right now," Samuel waved the leaflets at Harry.

"Right," Harry said, looking over the most detailed of the descriptions, "so the majority of the magical world supports environmental protection, preserving an old religion that reveres nature, and preserving the past."

"In a nutshell."

"Well, I can't say I disagree with it, but there certainly is less here than I expected."

"Less of what?"

"Protecting the environment is important, and I'd have to say that I'm anti-revolution so stability and tradition seems fine. It's just that, there aren't any solutions here."

"Solutions to what? There is a list here of actions to ensure the preservation of English wildlife, and obtaining government funding for the temple."

"What about solutions to our big problems."

"Like what? For us, the magical world is doing just fine. Most everyone likes things the way they are and doesn't want them to change."

"Really? There seems to be a lot of economic and social concern flying around this convention. This stuff," Harry swept an arm over the Traditionals leaflets, "doesn't address any of it."

"Why should we? It's none of our concern. For us, the magical world works just fine. We don't need change."

"So the Traditionals, a full forty percent of the population, think everything is fine the way it is and leave all the debates to the people who aren't happy."

"Makes sense, right? Why change anything if the system works for us?"

"So you agree with this?"

"Yes," Samuel nodded emphatically, "as does my entire family."

"You agree with everything the government has been up to recently? You said a few things a little while ago about your father's department in the ministry and The Boy Who Lived that made two thing crystal clear to me: First, you disagree with Minister Fudge's recent political moves; second, you believe the Death Eaters are a threat to you and yours. Knowing that Fudge and his administration covered up and denied the fact that Voldemort was back, knowing that the Daily Prophet aided in that cover up either through malicious intent or laziness, and knowing that murderers and madmen were given a full year to prepare for whatever they are planning to do, how can you possibly say you think the current system works?"

"How can you say The Prophet aided in the cover up?" A middle-aged man asked from behind the Traditionals' counter. Harry fished around for a moment before pulling up something he'd been talking to Hermione about last year. He'd have to be very careful not to give too much away.

"Either they happily went along with whatever the minister or whoever else backed the cover up told them and intentionally reported half-truths and misleading statements to aid in the cover up, or they were too lazy or unskilled to do their jobs or bother investigating the truth. Honestly, I like the second theory better. The whole paper is geared toward sensationalism and any facts they report seem to have slipped in by accident, for their bigger stories anyway. The only people doing their jobs well seem to be the editors checking for spelling and grammar errors. I have to say they do a great job."

"Well, no one knew the truth…"

"There was never any eye-witness testimony. There was never any interview of anyone at Hogwarts who was involved directly or indirectly in the events of the Third Triwizard Task. There was never any investigation of any kind."

"How do you know?" the man sneered.

"I…" Harry stopped and took a breath before he said something stupid. "I know because I've talked to the people involved. I've seen things myself, and I was told to shut up and pretend I hadn't. The entire Defense Association knew the truth, and no one there was ever asked to stand up and say their peace. A couple of guys were interviewed from Slytherin, but they had personal grudges and said a bunch of useless trash to make us look bad. Then there was Umbridge herself, flat out saying that we weren't allowed to talk or think about investigating the truth. She was openly suppressing knowledge, and made no attempt to cover up that fact."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Samuel asked.

"Do you agree with what they did?"

"No," both of the purebloods answered at once.

"Then how can you say that everything in this country is fine and nothing needs to change? You don't like what they are doing, so what do you plan to change to make sure people like them stop it and can't do it again?" Harry just couldn't seem to stop attracting attention. Perhaps he didn't cast the Notice-Me-Not charm properly? "This group…" Harry trailed off when he saw the old man from earlier through the crowd. He caught Harry looking at him, and made a show of dropping the Traditionals' leaflets into a lit crucible one of the nearby stands was using for something related to waste disposal. The old man nodded at Harry, and he had to catch his breath as he realized the old man knew exactly who he was. It was the old man from Diagon Alley, who was taking his grandchildren through Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes when Harry put on his public reappearance. "This group is the problem with modern Brittan."

"What? You trailed off there at the end," the man at the counter asked.

"Nothing," Harry sighed. "You do follow my point though, right? Just because you haven't been personally attacked or shorted by what they did doesn't mean you should ignore it. If you disagree with them, you have to take that position. It's your duty as a citizen to participate."

"Well, it's not what we stand for," the man said.

"It's a valid point," Samuel disagreed, "and a potent one. Not that I think many people would vote for Fudge after recent events, but I can see where more could be done to ensure such abuse doesn't happen again."

"At the very least," Harry prodded. "I suppose that sort of self-centered behavior is just part of Wizard culture. If it doesn't affect your own family, it isn't to be bothered with."

"That doesn't seem quite fair. Cite your reasoning," Samuel demanded. The stand attendant seemed to have stopped paying attention.

"Everyone is so used to living in secret, and no one they associate with has ever really left the magical world. You live in a small world and never look outside it, speaking in broad terms anyway. The Muggle Studies class at Hogwarts is a joke, the book is either hopelessly out of date or flat wrong about almost everything. I've met wizards who were fascinated by muggles, but still didn't know the first thing about how they live. For example: fireplaces are not only optional in the muggle world, they are often considered a luxury decorative item in the home."

"That's just stupid. How do they stay warm in winter?"

"They use central heating with a boiler and radiator or a furnace connected to a forced hot air heating system, always controlled by a thermostat either manually or on a programmed timer." Harry gave Samuel a moment to get over hearing a sentence that may as well have been in Greek for all the sense it made to him. Harry had had a similar conversation with Fred and George not long after the Floo incident at Privet drive, so he knew exactly what words made the least sense to pureblood wizards. "Muggles with modest homes might have an electric fireplace, which has no chimney and produces no smoke because there is no real fire in it. I know a wizard who tried to hook one up to the Floo network without understanding that _there is no fire_, and the result was disastrous. On the other hand, I have yet to have the Floo explained in any of my classes at Hogwarts. I know Apparition classes will start after the holiday, but what about other basics? Don't even tell me that it's my fault either; I didn't know the Floo existed until the summer before my third year. You can't look up or ask questions about something you don't know exists."

"You… should have been in Ravenclaw. The way you grab onto new discoveries and follow through to perfect your understanding, it's an amazing tenacity. I am forced to concede your point, but counter it with a simple truth. We think nothing of the sorts of things you want to learn, they are simple skills and facts of life we learn as soon as we can walk and talk and ask Mum how things work. Since this is our world, we rightly expect you to adapt to us."

"Even with someone like Dumbledore in charge of Hogwarts, it's bloody hard to do. You would think with all the talk going around about him being a muggle lover and whatever that the situation at Hogwarts would be less difficult for us. I keep seeing the same things over and over again here."

"I fail to see how that ties in to your disagreement with the Traditionals."

"The Traditionals are a group of witches and wizards with no problems. They have no personal grievance, and are content with their own lives. It seems that most of magical society focuses on their own dealings and prefers to be left alone, so they don't bother looking across the street to see the problems their neighbors have until those problems spill over onto their own affairs. I don't know whether to call you cold hearted or self-centered, but it bothers me that it hadn't occurred to the majority of this society to be prodded into action by the idea that your leader is abusing his power openly and without remorse. It's a clear pattern all over this place," Harry huffed, throwing out his left arm to encompass the entire convention. "Everyone here is crowding around small special interest groups that only champion one or two ideals, ideals that specifically relate to a minority population. The Fishermen we got tangled up with earlier, they don't have any information about how the changes they propose might help other professions, and they could! Those pureblood groups are narrow-minded as well, in their own way."

"I thought you were anti-revolution. You want there to be a group here championing sweeping change of our society?"

"Of course not, I just want people to look past the end of their own noses once in a while. I mean, does anyone honestly trust every word in the Prophet? They change their minds so much, and some of what they report is so outlandish and exaggerated, I don't know how anyone could still believe them past fifth year or so. It's just sensationalism, just entertainment, and who cares if it's ruining someone's life? So long as it isn't someone they know, they don't care. It's… it's…" Harry trailed off.

"Here I thought I'd be the one educating you," Samuel joked. "Honestly, I've never given it much thought. I read the Prophet every day, and I gossip about it in the shop, but you are correct. I don't believe it word for word. I don't think many adults do, but we go along with it. When they were making The Boy Who Lived out to be the next Dark Lord a lot of people went along with it for the gossip. There were people who believed it… Hufflepuffs with little sense and the easily startled, mostly. People who had something to hide, as well, in case whatever it was happened to be something his new regime didn't care for. I never thought of doing anything about it."

"It's lazy!" Harry spat out, finally finding the point he'd been groping around for. "Everyone expects The Boy Who Lived to take care of Voldemort." this time, Harry noticed the wince Samuel gave at hearing the name. "Everyone, even those who've been hurt by the man, expect someone else to do something about Fudge. Everyone knows the Prophet doesn't research its stories as thoroughly as it should, but no one will do anything about it. They are all too busy with their own lives to take five minutes and look around to see the mess they are steeped in up to their eyeballs. Even that creepy old guy was talking about how it's the new generation that has to do these things, and he's aware of it!"

"Who are you to judge, anyway?" Samuel asked, back on the defensive.

"You have no idea who I am," Harry muttered darkly, thoroughly depressed.

"I know you are a future auror who hangs around Harry Potter and his type. I think that may have presented you with a vision of this world that isn't quite reality, and you are having a hard time dealing with the bare facts. Calm down, ranting will change nothing."

"It makes me feel better," Harry pouted, well aware of how childish he sounded.

"I could make you feel better in far less exasperating ways, you know. Honestly, I should remember what my mother said about talking politics on a date. How about we grab the latest Quidditch news and order some ice cream. I think there was an exhibition game between Australia and South Africa that would have started around five in the morning, our time." Samuel snatched a free tote bag off one of the stands (Unified Produce Producers) and dumped the whole of their day's research into it.

"I suppose," Harry sighed, feeling wrung out.

Samuel knew a tiny dive called Snitch's Creams and Soda that seemed to be a combination sports bar and ice cream shop. Harry had a vague memory of a documentary he saw in Elementary about 1950's culture and pegged the place for being a time capsule straight out of the poodle skirt days. Unfortunately, the place didn't look like it had seen much attention since it was built and had some fairly obvious structural damage along one side. At least the important areas were clean and free of debris. The menu was limited to a few fried items, all British fast-food staples, and ten flavors of ice cream, but Harry figured that as long as they has Neapolitan he could call the place a proper shop. Oddly, there weren't many kids, but after the total lack of witches registered the problem sorted itself out in Harry's mind.

South Africa had trounced Australia thanks in part to a nasty case of Dragon Pox hitting most of the Australian starting lineup. Samuel admitted his favorite flavor of ice cream was tangerine, something Madam Fortescue didn't always have (amazingly) and that he was a diehard Harpy's fan when it came to the national league and an Irish fan internationally. Harry admitted that he couldn't stay awake through History class and loved flying for the sake of flying, and Quidditch by extension. Most people had it the other way around, but not him. All in all, it was a much more pleasant conversation that the political mess had been.

"Well, I hate to say it, but I think the soda jerk over there wants us to either order another round or pay up and shove off."

"Yeah, there is one other thing I want to talk to you about, and it should be somewhere kind of private." Harry was nervous, but he'd made his decision. He liked Samuel and if things got mixed up between him and Voldemort just because he'd been seen associating with Harry, then Harry wasn't sure he'd be able to forgive himself. Besides, as limp wristed and fabulous as Samuel could be, Harry figured the older man could still pack a punch. He didn't want a 'you lied to me' soap opera drama to ruin what could develop into a very good thing either.

"I don't think students can leave the village, or I'd invite you back to my flat in London," Samuel half-joked and nudged Harry in the ribs.

"Follow me then, I know a quiet place," Harry said, dropping a few coins on the counter. It wasn't long before they reached the Shrieking Shack. Samuel didn't want any part of the 'haunted' building, citing a long family history of levelheaded Ravenclaws for his good sense at staying outside the abandoned building. Harry just shoved him through a window with a shout, "Your Ravenclaw logic is flawed since there are no ghosts in this house. It's a Gryffindor story used to test firsties!"

"T-t-t-test?" Samuel stuttered, his thin frame shaking.

"To see how long it takes them to challenge the story and investigate," Harry explained as he climbed in and looked around the trashed sitting room. At least, that's what the shack's story was now. "It's actually a safe house for student werewolves, but since there aren't any in the school right now it's empty." Harry called out a cleaning charm and dropped onto the loveseat, the only piece of furniture that looked like it could be used for anything except a canine chew toy. He then pointed his wand here and there, setting up a web-like privacy spell he'd learned.

"Oh, yes, that makes it a much more appealing place to be!" Samuel nearly tore open the solidifying privacy web with his wild gesticulations.

"Sit," Harry said, patting the cushion next to him. "I promise you are safe here." Samuel gingerly sat down on the loveseat, scooting close to Harry and looking around as if the broken side tables would spring to life at any moment. Harry took off his bandanna, canceled the charms, and rubbed off the make-up. Samuel didn't seem to notice, as he'd hugged Harry from behind when a bird squawked outside.

"There hasn't been a drop of Gryffindor blood in my family since the 1623 protest in support of Centaur rights," Samuel whimpered.

"It takes a certain kind of confidence, if not bravery, to start your own clothing line," Harry chuckled.

"Designing clothes doesn't normally expose me to Lycanthropy," Samuel muttered, clearly not amused.

"You aren't exposed to anything more dangerous than dust. I'm beginning to think you just want an excuse to manhandle me." Samuel shot up straight next to him.

"No! No, I… I didn't mean to," the older man said, trying to touch as little of anything as possible. "I just… creeping around an abandoned building. You might hang out with The Boy Who Lived, but I'm just not that kind of guy." Harry burst out laughing.

"You're adorable, a little hopeless, but adorable," Harry decided. The older man gaped at him for a few moments. "I rather like my hair long, don't you think?"

"A little old-fashioned, but it is quite fetching," Samuel said after a while. "Long hair for men is making a comeback with the upper class."

"My hair sticks up like a ruffled bird's nest when it's short, not that it behaves properly long either," Harry joked. Samuel sat down next to him again.

"You need a good conditioner."

"A friend of mine recommended this," Harry pulled the bottle of shampoo out of his pocket. "Can I have your professional designer opinion?" Samuel seemed to relax a little more each time Harry asked something silly.

"Why certainly," Samuel actually smiled and looked at the bottle, "but while my profession deals with glamour I have never had anything to do with hair care and I am totally at a loss for what this concoction is."

"That makes two of us. I'll just have to trust the girls then," Harry sighed and tucked it away. "You are going to have to tell me what it is that makes it so hard for anyone to recognize me, though. I'm honestly shocked that the flimsy disguise I wore before works so well. Maybe I'll have to chalk it up to some kind of late-onset accidental magic, but at my age that's just embarrassing." _Unexplained Animagus transformation notwithstanding_, he thought to himself.

"Disguise? All you did was put on that bandanna. It did cover how fluffy your hair is, it's almost like feathers really," Samuel reached out and tucked back some of Harry's hair. "If you pulled it back in a… a… You… I… scar."

"Harry James Potter, pleased to meet you," Harry smirked and affected a bow.

"You must think I'm such an idiot." He was frozen in place, eyes locked on Harry's scar.

"Well, I might have wondered if there was something in the water making everyone half blind. It wasn't just you after all."

"You've… gotten away with that before."

"For a whole summer, if you can believe it. Granted no one who knew me well was around, but it's still impressive how blind most people are. We all see what we want to see, I suppose," Harry shrugged and turned away.

"I expected you to be taller and more… I don't know, grand, I suppose. Not just some bloke sitting in a dive ordering the cheapest thing on the menu." Harry could feel Samuel shift on the couch.

"Most people are disappointed when they meet me," Harry sighed. "I'm not majestic enough to be a hero it seems. Everyone expects me to be another Gilderoy Lockhart, ponce extraordinaire."

"He did lay it on thick," Samuel agreed. Harry turned to look at him. "I wonder if you'll forgive me…"

"Forgive you for what?" Harry asked, scowling at the stiff way Samuel was sitting.

"For not knowing who you were."

"This summer I didn't want anyone to know, it was my first day back after spending months running for my life. As for today, well, you'd already met me and decided I wasn't Harry Potter."

"Yes, but… You're the Chosen One right? No wonder you weren't afraid of some dusty old house. You wouldn't be afraid of much, would you, Sir?" Samuel stood up and looked out the broken window. Harry had a sudden urge to hit him.

"Tyler never existed, there is only me. I should apologize for lying to you, and if you call me 'Sir' again we're going to have a problem. The stuff in the papers about me is exaggerated. I am the person you took out on the town with this afternoon, and the person you were flirting with just now, and my name doesn't change how amazing your new designer line of formal wear is going to be." Harry walked over to Samuel and laid his hand on the taller man's back. "I was having fun, you know."

"It was fun," Samuel agreed, not looking at him.

"I wanted to tell you for a couple of reasons. First, I love the robes you made for me and I plan on wearing them to the Valentine's Ball the Headmaster decided to throw this year. I've got no chance of escaping it, and I'm going to be hounded for interviews and photographs about it. There isn't any getting around the fact that those robes are going on the front page of something," Harry declared. Samuel turned on his heel, looking down at Harry with wide eyes.

"You'd tell them I made your robes?" he asked with a hungry look in his eyes. Harry switched gears, having not thought of that. His point had been that Samuel would recognize his own designs and put two and two together.

"If you can manage to drop the hero-worship we can work something out."

"Give me a few days to wrap my head around it, and I'll be fine." Samuel nodded. "It's just a matter of assimilating the new information into the old, same as any other discovery, same as what you have been doing all day at the convention."

"That is why I like Ravenclaws, always practical!" Harry crowed.

"What were the other reasons you wanted me to know the truth?" Samuel asked, tilting his head to the side in a gesture Harry suspected was taught in the Ravenclaw common room.

"Uh, well… I… It is dangerous to be associated with me. Voldemort wants me dead, and I'm just about stuck here at Hogwarts." Samuel whimpered aloud when Harry said the name this time. "Unless I go around announcing my presence, I tend to get shoved around and ignored. However, if someone was actually looking for me, or if someone knew me well enough not to be thrown off by how quiet I can be, then I'll be spotted. Once word gets out that I'm around people tend to go a little nuts and possibly start tossing around dark magic. It's something people who are near me often have to consider."

"I would be near you often?" Samuel asked with a slow grin.

"If you want to be," Harry squeaked out with a lot less confidence then he meant to show. His cheeks burned and he dug into the worn carpet with the toe of his shoe. "I also dislike lies that don't need to be told. There are enough secrets and lies out there; I don't want any more of them if I don't absolutely have to have them." Harry looked back up at Samuel. "That said, no one can know I'm gay. It's a public relations disaster and I'm not quite sure about how true it is myself. I'm taking the first girl that asks me to the Ball no matter who she is."

"You can't endorse my designs and stay in the closet. Everyone knows W.D.W. is a gay shop."

"I heard a rumor you were a great designer and went to the shop looking for you. The press will eat that up. I look great for ignoring prejudice and you look fantastic…"

"Why thank you," Samuel quipped.

"… because you attract clients from outside Well Dressed Wizard's normal clientele." Harry would have to do something nice for himself; he had always been good at thinking on his feet, but specialized on actions rather than words. He was doing some great verbal dancing today.

"I'm tempted to say yes, of course I would be glad to have you as a spokesperson for my new line, but…" Samuel paused for a moment to look out the window. He shivered a little before he turned back and looked Harry in the eye. "The Death Eaters have been rather active lately."

"They have, and it will only get worse until Voldemort dies." This time the older man jumped at the name.

"I'm not a fighter. I can't even fly a broom for fear of falling," Samuel admitted, shaking. Harry stepped forward and hugged the taller man. He wasn't sure why he was doing it, and he felt distinctly girly, but Samuel stopped shaking.

"Write me in a few days and tell me what you decide. If you want to go through with it we'll write up a press release when the time comes for your new line to come out. If you don't… then I'll see you around Diagon Alley when it's over," Harry reassured.

"You are a truly gallant man, if not as ostentatious as I expected." Samuel wrapped his arms around Harry to hug him back. When Harry looked up at him, Samuel kissed him. Harry was too shocked to do much about it at first, but Samuel was a very good kisser. "I will owl you when I've thought over the business end of things."

"Mmhmm," Harry mumbled, enjoying the bubbly warm feeling in his stomach. "I'll be waiting for it." He stepped back and took a deep breath to calm down.

"So… what now?" Samuel asked after a long moment.

"Well, want to see how my amazing non-disguise works?" Harry pulled out his bandanna and the make-up. "When I first did this I figured heavy glamour spells would attract more attention then they threw off."

"I could use a quick color-change spell on your hair. Lots of people use them and most anti-theft wards won't make it blink." Samuel looked a little nervous.

"I know a few myself… but only the bright prank colors."

"Gryffindors… Hold still a moment. _Verto Is Saeta Frons_."

"A literal Latin spell, that's easy to remember. What's the counter?" Harry conjured a mirror and looked at his new dark brown hair.

"Vero Rectus. It also reverts in the shower."

"That's handy to know in a rainstorm."

"I hadn't thought of that," Samuel laughed.

"Well, do you want to catch the last of the convention or shall we part ways?" Harry asked, banishing the mirror and gathering his things.

"I think I'll head home. I have quite a lot to think about after all, and the sun will be setting soon."

"Owl me, no matter what you decide."

"Absolutely."

Author's Note:

I'm back! New apartment and a new inspiration to write.

Special thanks to my sister, my best friend, and the bookworm nuts that frequent Dracula's Ball in Philadelphia for not letting me give up on this story.


	18. Finding a Date

18

When Harry got back to the dorm, Ron was still playing chess. He decided that Ron had a point, though it wasn't the one he was aiming at, when Ron asked what happened to his best mate in the robe shop. He'd barely had anything to do with either of his best friends this term, and the looks Hermione was giving him when she thought he wasn't looking were as subtle as a stampeding Hippogriff. They thought he was still bent out of shape about Sirius' death, and blamed all his flakey behavior on that. From not caring he wasn't captain to happily passing up being prefect, Harry wasn't acting like the Harry they expected. For himself, he considered he'd been bent _into_ shape. For his first three years at Hogwarts he'd gone around the adults that should have been protecting him and gotten terribly lucky, if you can count three near death experiences as lucky. In fourth year he tried to play along, to do things their way, and it ended in disaster. In Fifth year he'd tried to rally support and do what Dumbledore had basically told him to do, and it ended in a _bigger_ disaster. Now he wasn't sure where he stood. He wasn't out just to save his own skin, but he was neither taking orders nor directly defying them. He felt a little lost…

_Lost with an armload of research material and a best friend bookworm who he has been meaning to spend more time around!_ He thought as he spotted Hermione nearly buried behind two monolithic texts in a well lit corner. He made a bee line to her through the crowd of returning Gryffindors.

"Hermione, how much do you know about voting?" Harry asked, startling the curly-haired girl into dropping her book. The resulting thump scared some nearby first years.

"Honestly, Harry, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry, but did you get to the political convention?"

"I walked through it. Did you find something interesting?"

"Did you know the voting age is based on blood status? Fred and George get to vote in this election, held on the solstice apparently, and you won't get to vote until you are twenty."

"I… I thought that was a joke," Hermione gasped and grabbed hold of the packet of papers Harry was wielding. "Did you sign up for the political primer elective?"

"I was three names below yours on the sign-up sheet," Harry grinned. "I don't think Ron knows he'll have to brave Friday afternoons alone come January. I'm also taking the Practical Numbers class."

"You should have transferred into Arithmancy from Divination ages ago. Then, you wouldn't need it."

"I don't know, it looks like regular Maths, like from primary, just all grown up and doing taxes. Arithmancy is a lot more than just figuring percentages." Harry helped set aside the huge tomes – apparently some extra Charms work – and lay out the political pamphlets.

"Harry, what is this?" Hermione squeaked in indignation, pointing at the pureblood dribble accusingly.

"Know your enemy, or in this case: know who your enemy is pretending to be. This is a collection of all the concerns, beliefs, and viewpoints of polite pureblood society. I don't think Voldemort is out for anyone but himself, and he certainly isn't about to help anyone. If he wins, what do they get?" Harry asked, pointing at a picture of a pair of pureblood women on one of the flyers calling for greater safety for magical children. "Nothing, most likely, but what do they think they will get? We are fighting for our lives; if we don't fight Voldemort will have us killed for not being born with pure blood. What are they fighting for? Heck, what is the Order fighting for? What is Dumbledore fighting for? What am I fighting for, beyond my own life?"

"Voldemort is evil, of course good people will fight him."

"What of the good people who follow him? Some have been blackmailed in, but there are true believers. Do you honestly believe there are enough evil people in the magical world to support a tyrant like that while he was rising to power? Do you believe Malfoy was _evil_ at eleven years old, or just an insensitive prat?"

"This is going to require some research," Hermione muttered, looking down at the stacks of political babble with skepticism.

"That, my dear witch, is exactly what I was thinking," Harry smiled like a marauder and started going over everything he'd learned that day. Well, everything except the personal bits… he didn't want any of Hermione's saucy details about Ron either. Better to talk of Voldemort, politics, and inequality – it was less likely to result in nightmares.

-oO00Oo-

Defense Against the Dark Arts was Harry's best subject, and this year, as in nearly every other year, that fact was more in spite of the Professor than because of him. Professor Dupont was nearly impossible to understand, wandering around topics with his thick accent like a lost tourist. Hermione had devised a system where she kept three parchments lined up on her desk and tried to categorize everything the professor said instead of writing it all out word for word. Whatever handful of topics he would be wandering through, she tried to lay them out separately. Harry couldn't handle that on the fly, even after his time sorting out Snape's multiple trains of thought over the summer as Imber. Instead, he read a chapter ahead, took note of anything that sounded like a key point in class and compared the two bodies of knowledge for something resembling a correlation. Ron, in a move that was par for the course, took sparse notes in class and then did his homework with Harry and Hermione.

"The problem is, the system makes no sense," Hermione scoffed, tossing down her quill and splattering the vibrant yellow highlighting ink across the page and nearly into her lunch. "There are magical creatures, magical beings, muggles, mundane creatures, semi-humans, half-humans… and none of them have any strict definitions or guidelines to delineate what is what.

"At least the system is honest enough to include witches and wizards as magical beings rather than in a separate category. Beingness… beinghood?" Harry blinked a few times, sure that he had no chance of finding what word he was fishing around for. "Whatever it is that makes us who we are, it is not necessarily restricted to just humans. That's a very modern way of thinking, by muggle standards," Harry soothed. "The whole Darwin thing did that for muggles, but the magical community has been wondering about how sentient animals are, and what that means morally, for centuries. It's amazing vegetarians are so rare, considering." He popped another bit of fruit salad in him mouth. While the thought or even the act of eating meat didn't make him ill anymore, he just felt better eating fruit and veg.

"There ought to be a classification for you," Ron joked. "Probably under the Immortals and Undead umbrella, with how often you manage to get by when any normal person would just drop dead. 'Course I know you aren't actually dead, just that you have a hard time managing dropping dead, so if we trace the chart over this way." Ron followed a crazy flow chart in their DADA book showing the legal classification of most common creatures. On the branch opposite vampires under the 'it doesn't exactly die when killed' first example was was…

"Are you calling me a phoenix?" Harry nearly fell out of his chair, unsure if he should fall over laughing or in a faint.

"Oh, stop kidding around you two!" Hermione scratched, tired of their antics. They had been trying to decipher the chapter on legal classifications all morning, and neither Ron nor Harry had been taking it seriously. This was murky water, and Harry really ought to pay attention considering the escalating war. While it is always legal to use necessary force to defend one's life, property, and family; there are different levels of acceptable behavior governing different kinds of creatures. 'Animals' could be killed, caught, or otherwise dispatched without repercussion unless they were someone's property or endangered. For creatures like centaurs, who could speak English easily and demonstrate critical thinking skills, the laws were much like the laws for humans. It was all the in-between that got messed up, and one particular grey area stood out to Harry so blatantly it destroyed his ability to concentrate on any other topic.

"Alright, Hermione, but this is a lost cause. We're just going to have to memorize this, or use one of Fred and George's special ink on our arms before the test. There is no classification system, things just are the way they are," Ron concluded.

"More sentient creatures should be higher up the list than less sentient ones, and werewolves or other former or half-humans should be higher as well." Hermione wasn't to be derailed.

"They aren't, though," Ron pointed out. "Werewolves are at the very bottom of the list, as they should be. No offence to Prof. Lupin, but under the moonlight a werewolf is about as dangerous an animal you can find. It might not make sense, but there is reason behind it."

"Nagas are classified as wild animals despite having a complex culture," Harry pointed out. "They physically can't handle spoken English well, but they can write just fine and should be right alongside centaurs or even integrated like vampires. It says here that an argument was made that due to their 'migratory nature' they should be considered the same as a flock of birds, particularly considering that they are a non-native species not suited for life in a Northern climate."

"Well," Ron reasoned, "they are cold-blooded aren't they? There is no way they could last through a winter here. No point in granting citizenship to something that can't live here."

"That's hardly the point! There are sentient creatures are lacking basic rights! I had no idea how well-off house elves were in the eyes of the law. At least they have been granted personhood, considered individuals and the right to testify in court." Hermione was in a full blown huff over this.

"They do live here," Harry stated blandly, re-directing the conversation to the topic that has been haunting him since their last class. "Professor Dupont was trying to explain it yesterday, I think. They 'migrated' north following a genocide of their kind. Something about muggles and evil serpents and the crusades, I couldn't follow it exactly. To make a long and confusing story short: they ran north until their pursuers gave up, expecting them to die of cold in the winters we have in England. They killed some livestock while hunting for food and the matter came up in the Wizengamont. Some hotshot in the court decided to use this to his advantage, and he gave them a hill on his land where it bordered a rival of his. He convinced the court to classify them as an animal migration, since they would have no impact on our society and would shortly leave, so no one would try and get rid of them. He told the Nagas that as long as they kept to their own affairs and didn't try to assimilate, they could live in a burrow under his hill until they were ready to leave. He expected them to eat his rival's farm animals, as they often got into his vegetable fields and he'd told the Nagas that any animal on his property that wasn't a collared and tagged dog was fair game. They didn't, at least not enough to be noticed, and they didn't leave when the winter was over either. They burrowed deep, and no one is quite sure what they eat or how they live anymore. Nagas are not naturally subterranean, they were migratory hunters in tropical areas and middle-eastern deserts."

"English Nagas are a myth, Harry," Ron groaned. "It's an old story meant to scare kids out of being too smart for their own good. In the end, the burrows made the fields above incapable of holding much water and the crops dried up unless watered constantly. After fighting a losing battle against the failing crops for a few years, large sink-holes opened up and destroyed the foundation of the manor house. The dishonest man lost everything because he was jealous of his neighbor's success. It's just a bedtime story."

"Professor Dupont seemed pretty serious about it." Harry looked over his notes.

"He probably was using it as a lesson, just a more grown-up one than the ones Mum tried to get out of it."

"But, then why is it law?" Hermione asked, bringing out the obvious flaw in the argument. "If it was just a story, it wouldn't be written into the law."

"I didn't say they never came up here, I just said that there are no such things as 'English Nagas' anymore. They couldn't have lived and they couldn't have ruined that man's life the way the story says."

"Ron… the farmer whose livestock was believed to be eating the vegetables of this slick character… It's Weasley."

"So?"

"What?" Hermione asked at the same time.

"The politician who introduced the idea was Romulus Malfoy, the next-door neighbor to Gawain Weasley. They both had large prosperous farms, but Romulus had some bad harvests while Gawain's pigs were the talk of the town." Harry read off. "Ron, this is the start of the feud between your family and the Malfoys, isn't it? They moved after this disaster, buying a sheep farm off of an aging relative in Northern England."

"So what if it is? There are no Nagas in my back yard."

"They would be under the forest just past your property line. That land _is_ a waste, the trees are all stunted and growing up sideways, and the twins told me ages ago it's full of sinkholes."

"There are no Nagas! Don't you think I'd know if there was an entire village of seven foot talking snakes with arms living next door? The land there is cursed, same as the Forbidden Forest: Dangerous, unwelcoming, and unsuitable for polite company."

"I wonder if I could talk to them. Wouldn't that be wild? Most snakes are too simple-minded to carry on a proper conversation…" Harry ignored Ron's indignant protests.

"They could have adapted into a whole new sub-species. Just think of it, an isolated population with severe environmental stressors… it's the perfect recipe for evolution. They would have to have evolved an entirely new culture, if not had physical evolution as well. What kind of life span do they have? How many generations would it have been for them?" Hermione had that dangerous look in her eye, just as Harry wanted. He also wanted answers to those questions, since it only seemed logical that Voldemort, who was looking to boost his ranks with everything from vampires to giants, would have grabbed hold of the English Naga 'myth' with both his spidery hands.

"I suddenly can't wait for Christmas," Harry said, taking a drink with a flourish.

-oO00Oo-

It was a good week. Hermione had dragged Ron off to research the entire history of citizenship law and species classification. Probably also for a good snog, as Harry got out of going much too easily. He'd decided to live the weekend in the outside world first this time around, and do his time-turner studying on the second run-through. He had been sorely tempted to fly down to Ottery St. Catchpole ever since he read about the Nagas. Doing his weekend the other way around gave him two days to talk himself out of it. In the mean time, he'd gotten through enough of his estate and Potter family book to feel like he understood most of what was expected of him. Voldemort had been quiet. Harry's class work was coming along nicely and looking like his best set of grades to date. He had a tentative relationship with a great felt in control.

Someone was sobbing. Harry stopped in his tracks and spun around to find out where the sound was coming from. The halls looked deserted, with everyone outside enjoying what may be one of the last decent days before winter set in or cramming in the library for mid-term exams. Harry followed the sound to an alcove sunk deep into the wall. On a bench was a witch wearing Slytherin robes with bright red and yellow goo covering one side of her body. She had black hair cut just below her chin and her face buried in her hands.

"Hello?" Harry started, "Do you need help up to the infirmary?"

"Go away," she mumbled, her voice indistinct and muffled from crying.

"I would, but I have this mental condition. I simply can't stand not helping someone who needs it," Harry joked. When the girl kept on sobbing he bent down. "Are you hurt anywhere? Does this stuff sting or burn?"

"Why does it have to be you?" She moaned, startling Harry.

"Because everyone sensible is outside enjoying the sunshine and I'm just weird?" He tried again, and this time the sobs skipped a little, like drowned giggles. "Seriously though, does that potion or whatever do anything other than make your scarf look like a Christmas decoration?"

"I don't need pity." The girl looked up and Harry was blown back onto his heels. For a moment, he thought he'd stumbled onto a shrunken Snape. Her eyes were the same black-brown, and had the same fierceness in them. Her nose was large, unfortunate, and hawkish on her pale face. The red and yellow had soaked into her skin across her cheek, painting it instead of beading up as it did on her clothes.

"I was just trying to get you to stop crying. All the red and green does make you look like a Christmas gift, and the holidays are just around the corner. So, are you alright?"

"It's just body paint, like they use at Quidditch games."

"Red and yellow, or gold I suppose… any particular reason for that?"

"They… I want to ask someone to the dance, but he'll never say yes."

"Because he's in Gryffindor, I take it? I guess your dorm-mates found out."

"Yeah," she mumbled.

"Why are you so sure he'll say no?"

"I'm in Slytherin," she said, as if that explained everything. It rather did, and that almost bothered Harry more than her crying.

"You'll never know unless you try, and then you'll know for sure if he's a short-sighted prat or not straight off. I mean, if he said no without having a better reason than that you were sorted into a house that doesn't tend to get on well with Gryffindors, then he isn't worth your time, now is he?" Harry sat down on the bench next to her while he was talking. "So ask him, and if he breaks your heart take it out on the trolls you are sharing a dorm with. Pranks are a great way to relieve stress." The girl giggled a little again. "What's your name, anyway?" Her face fell sharply at the question.

"Olivia Dewgall, a fifth year," she moped. Harry had the distinct impression he'd come off wrong footed somewhere, but couldn't figure where.

"Yeah," Harry tried to fill the awkward silence. "Forgive me for asking, in case this is an awkward question. Well, I know it is, actually, but… Are you related to Professor Snape?" The girl's head snapped up, and Harry could swear he heard something shuffle further down the corridor. "You have the same, ah, facial structure," he tried to put it delicately. 'You have a great honking nose' would clearly have gotten him hexed.

"We're cousins through my mother," Miss Dewgall said after a pause. "Why?"

"Well, it's a rather striking resemblance. Your eyes are very intense. Makes a guy nervous, even if you are short like me instead of the towering pillar the professor is."

"You are saying I'm ugly," she grumbled, glaring in a very familiar way.

"Not at all! No! I said intense, you know: powerful, striking, unique… Heck, it looks better on you than him, I'd say."

"Don't lie; I know what I look like."

"I'm going to stop pretending you are talking about your eyes now. You have a nose, and it isn't something that will make the cover of Play Wizard, but I will remind you of the late Dolores Umbridge and assert that the situation could be infinitely worse. Now, can we talk about something that won't get me hexed?"

"You really are a bit mad, aren't you?"

"I've been told all the best people are. I like to think I usually make a lot more sense, but I'm desperate for a distraction today and being insane is amusing. You don't go to DA meetings, so you haven't seen me when I'm busy. That is a whole different person altogether. How about you? Is this an odd version of Olivia Dewgall, or do you normally dress early for Christmas and moan about genetics?"

"You think I look like a Christmas gift like this?" she asked, fiddling with her scarf and spreading the red and yellow over her hands even more. A blade of hair, cut short and sharp, fell over her face from behind her ear.

"I said so, didn't I? I'm mad, not delusional. It's only my interpretation of and reaction to reality that is flawed, not my perception of it." She burst out laughing, and Harry joined her. "It makes you feel better, anyway, so I suppose it's a job well done."

"This is unreal…I suppose I should wash this off now," she mumbled, suddenly shy again.

"Only too right, and I'm serious about what I said before. A Gryffindor will appreciate the bravery of a girl asking him out so early and across house lines, and if he turns you down you have plenty of time to find someone who isn't a total prat." Harry got up to leave.

"Potter, um Harry?" Dewgall asked, grabbing onto his sleeve before he could walk away. Her intense eyes were filled with something he couldn't place.

"Yes?"

"Would you go to the Valentine's Day dance with me?" she blurted out so fast he nearly didn't catch it.

"Oh," it suddenly hit Harry where all that extra tension was coming from. "So it was me, then? That explains a bit." He was stalling, and he knew it, and she was going to cry again any second. She was already hidden behind her hair again. "Would you look at me?"

Olivia looked up, tears in her dark eyes. She sniffed loudly, but met Harry's gaze. Harry pressed forward, using the magic in his glasses and vague understanding of Legillemancy to ruffle through her thoughts. He saw himself in various situations: laughing with Ron, playing quidditch, helping Malfoy to the hospital wing, and watching with a pained expression as a knot of Hufflepuffs showed off pro-Cedric and anti-Harry buttons. There was no hero-worship to speak of.

"As you are the first person to ask me, and I can think of no one else I'd like to take, I will gladly take you on one condition," Harry agreed.

"What's the catch," she recoiled.

"You have to come to the Defense Association. You don't have to come to every meeting between now and the dance, but anyone associated with me attracts danger. I have enemies. I won't see you hurt by them because you can't defend yourself."

"Snake charmer," Olivia accused, blushing. "I'll be at the next meeting."

"Then I'll see you at the N.O.D. meeting Monday, where you can test into A.I.D." Harry turned to go, and nearly tripped when he spotted Professor Snape loitering at the end of the hall trying to b inconspicuous. Well, it could have been Malfoy, he supposed. He waved to the 'hidden' Professor as he walked past the darkened alcove, because being cheeky and insane really was his only amusement these days. "Constant Vigilance!"


	19. Awkward Moves

**19 Awkward Moves**

It had been a while since Harry found the _Swish & Flick_ magazine, and he'd nearly forgotten about his plan to return it to its owner. Sebastian McClathan had become less important after Harry's impromptu date with Samuel. Sebastian was a great guy, always quick to pick things up in the D.A. and rather sharp all around, but he was always so nervous and quiet around Harry that it bordered on intolerable. Samuel was a bit of a coward, but he had a confidence and elegance about him that blew Sebastian out of the water. Samuel was someone he could forget his troubles around, and when Harry was honest with himself that was what he wanted most just now. So when he tripped over a second year who was running through the halls like a madwoman and fell down a short flight of stairs to end up face down on top of his blond classmate, he felt guilty about enjoying the destination if not the trip.

"Sorry!" Harry squeaked, hopping off the other boy.

"Alright… didn't hurt," McClathan managed to string together, his usual awkwardness in full force.

"I… I have something you left at the D.A." Harry forced out before his good sense could stop him.

"What?" Sebastian asked, fiddling with his book bag.

"It looks like a notebook. I have it here," Harry opened his own bag. He was too afraid that one of his dorm mates would stumble on it looking for his notes, and so had taken to carrying it around on weekends. On weekdays, there was less chance of a raid on his personal belongings and he kept it under his pillow. When Harry pulled out the notebook, Sebastian made a choked sound. "Did you fix it so it looks like this?"

The sound Sebastian made was not a word. It couldn't even be put into the category of an affirmation or denial. The boy was white as a sheet and looking everywhere but at Harry. After looking around and deciding they were in too public a place, Harry grabbed McClathan's elbow and started guiding him to an unused classroom.

"Alright, we'll go somewhere more private. I really want to know if you bought it like this or if you charmed it yourself… or if someone charmed it for you. It's great work."

"I'm gay," Sebastian confessed as soon as the door clicked closed behind them.

"I figured that," Harry sighed.

"You don't care?" That was the most coherent Sebastian had been so far.

"No," Harry shrugged. "Do you expect me to?"

"It's not proper for the last scion of a family to ignore his duty and choose to enter into a fruitless relationship," Sebastian said, sounding like he was directly quoting something.

"I didn't know you were the last of your family. Did they die in the first war?" Harry asked, slumping down into one of the chairs. "I'm sorry, you probably don't want to…"

"My parents are fine, but I don't have any brothers or sisters and all my cousins are girls. I'm the last McClathan." He fiddled with his bag as he spoke. "It would be a disgrace."

"That's… I guess I never thought about it."

"Oh," Sebastian crumbled into a chair opposite Harry. The desk between them was scorched from some ancient accident, and Harry wondered idly what could have caused the delicate swirling pattern in the burnt wood.

"The charm?"

"It comes that way. You can order it to look like a bunch of things, like notebooks, journals with fake titles that don't sound interesting, and old textbooks."

"You don't talk much," Harry laughed, "I think this is the most I've ever heard you say."

"Not much to talk about," Sebastian shrugged. Harry handed the notebook to him.

"I read it," Harry felt the need to admit. "The articles about the community and all that, you know? I lived a pretty sheltered life before Hogwarts and… There is some interesting social stuff in there I didn't know existed."

"You're welcome?" The blond boy's hands were visibly shaking until he forced them still by folding them in his lap.

"You don't have to be so nervous, McClathan. I don't have any reason to tell anyone."

"Merlin, you're amazing," Sebastian folded forward, dropping his head in his hands.

"Um, I'm taken, also," Harry defended.

"I know, Weasley's sister, right?"

"What? You mean the girl that looks almost exactly like my mum? No, sorry, that's a little too twisted even for my life. I'm going to the dance with a Slytherin as of about half an hour ago."

"Oh, wow… I hadn't put that together. Is it Greengrass? Most of my dorm agrees she's got the best legs in Slytherin." It seemed to go without saying that McClathan had no personal opinion on the matter.

"Dewgall," Harry corrected, "on account of having a death wish, I think."

"You're dating Professor Snape's cousin?"

"Am I the only one who didn't know Snape had a cousin attending Hogwarts?"

"I suppose not, but it's common knowledge. How did you get together?"

"Like I said, it was about half an hour ago… her mates were giving her a hard time for hoping to go to the dance with a certain Gryffindor, and I caught the aftermath. I told her any Gryffindor would respect the bravery it would take to cross house lines like that. I didn't expect that she was talking about me, and when she asked me point-blank I had no reason to say no. She seems nice. The professor heard the whole thing. The joys of my luck," Harry sighed and shrugged. "How about you?"

"I'm not… I don't have anyone."

"Well, I guess it would be hard to find someone while still in the closet." They lapsed into silence for a while, Harry looking out the window while Sebastian buried the 'notebook' at the bottom of his bag.

"You really don't mind that I'm… you know…"

"Why should I?"

"Well, I'm in the D.A. and I mean, you know, we all look up to you there… a lot of the girls stare at you and since I'm…"

"Just because you prefer your own gender doesn't mean you suddenly want to shag everything and everyone of that gender any more than someone else would want to grab everything of the opposite gender." Harry stumbled around his thoughts, trying to think of what he planned to tell Ron in case of a redheaded rejection. Given Ron's track record, either it would result in a shrug and 'pass the chicken' or a shouting fit. Harry wasn't sure which he'd prefer.

McClathan said another of those non-words of his. Harry really was thick sometimes.

"I… Yeah, I suppose I should be less thick about these things, shouldn't I? Humor my multiple head injuries. You like me?"

Harry wasn't sure, but this time the sound McClathan made sounded a bit like _'who wouldn't?_'

"Right… so…" Harry looked around the room. This conversation was a bad idea. He should have just tossed the book. "I'm not entirely sure… that is, I said I lived a sheltered life before Hogwarts… I haven't ruled out any options. Yeah, that sounds right. I haven't ruled anything out, but I'm taken right now, and you should probably focus on deciding if you want to take a girl or a guy to the dance. You'll have to make that choice soon, or everyone good will be taken. I don't have anyone to disappoint, really, and you have family duties, but it's a complicated thing for anyone to figure out even without the family pressure. If you don't want to come out, then find someone to take as a friend who doesn't have any expectations."

"I understand," Sebastian mercifully cut off his rambling, his tone solemn as if he'd taken a great oath.

"Olivia doesn't have any real expectations, and I'm going to make sure she understands. I am taken, though. You both should understand that," Harry confessed, making plans to ensure he wasn't lying as soon as possible.

"Of course. Was it just…" McClathan waved his hand vaguely toward his bag.

"I got out of Dumbldore's protective bubble this summer. There were books, music, adventure, studying, more to see and do than I thought would fit into one summer and in the end I learned more than I expected to. For example, I feel much healthier and can focus better when I don't eat meat and I absolutely love shopping."

"Right. So, I'll see you at the next meeting?"

"See you then." They practically ran out of the room, and it wasn't until he'd passed four doors that Harry realized he was walking in the opposite direction to his dorm and changed course. He needed to stop running off at the mouth, and a few times around the pitch on his broom would put his head back on straight.

…oO00Oo…

Professor Snape's lessons were equal parts torture and ecstasy. On the one hand, both teacher and student truly loved the subject and had rather extreme motivation to do well. On the other, Snape was a brutal and unforgiving taskmaster. They talked for long hours about the kind of battle magic that the Dark Lord favored and the previously rare magics that had come back into common use through the Death Eaters. Offensive spells that require more than the standard 'Finite' to dispel, mostly spells not based in Latin, and how to properly counter them were brought up along with various tactical strategies. It was a proper meeting of the minds, and for some reason Harry found it ridiculously easy to set aside his feelings for the professor and focus on the work. Even stranger, Snape was nothing short of professional throughout the lessons, though the moment they were over their usual mutual hatred seemed to re-assert itself.

"What about compulsion spells? I know he's partial to Imperious, but there are a lot of less drastic suggestive spells." Harry pointed out the section on compulsion spells in his D.A.D.A. text book.

"When properly and expertly cast, the Imperious allows the victim to act normally in any situation other than the one where the forced actions override the subject's better judgment. It is so powerful and effective that he doesn't bother with anything else." Snape waved his hand dismissively. "His followers have largely followed the trend.

"I thought that when the spell was active the victim's mind completely shuts down?"

"It does, but it is best used with trigger conditions. For example: 'Murder your husband when he gets home' will cause a woman to go about her day normally until her husband comes home. Then her mind shuts down and she acts as a puppet, following every little command until she is released."

"She can't think during that time though, she can't use her skills to their highest degree or do anything the caster doesn't specifically allow. There is no creativity or reactive behavior."

"That is precisely so, Mr. Potter, and the biggest drawback of the Imperious spell. Coercion through other means, such as blackmail, works much better. These low level compulsion spells will not directly allow a caster to force someone to act in gross contradiction to their natural inclinations."

"It's the same principle as most love potions, then," Harry mused.

"Explain." Snape snapped, in a tone that clearly meant he expected Harry to be grossly mistaken and in need of drastic correction. Harry blushed fiercely, and prayed to whatever deity may be listening that he would not be asked to cite his source. He was fairly certain the Professor would blow his top if he dared to openly cite _Swish and Flick_ in an academic argument.

"I read an article recently about a family with a lesbian daughter that tried to 'cure' her with potions, but even after dosing her with the legal maximum dose, she didn't have any interest in the guy they picked for her. Since it was directly in contradiction to her nature, the magic had nothing to bend or twist to change her mind," Harry supplied.

"That is… a good example. However that was brutal use of the techniques. Subtle use of these spells and the associated potions is far more effective. In fact, there are historical accounts of families using such techniques to shape their children. Over years, a subtle suggestion can bend a person's perceptions far from their natural center line. Such things have been made illegal to the point that casing a compulsion spell on a child younger than six years of age breaks no less than seven laws, even if it is as harmless as the classic example of a mother casting the spell on a stubborn child who refuses to eat their veg. The problem lies both in your counter-example and in the inherent volatility of the spells. They have a tendency to fade or twist with time. The suggestion that vegetables are delicious can lead to all other foods becoming unpalatable or…" the professor suddenly whipped around to look Harry in the eye.

"You don't honestly think my mother would have imagined doing that to me at a year old, and my relatives are muggles. A weak spell would fade and a strong one would take years to warp. How many people are going to insist my dietary choices are based on spell damage? I do not fanatically love vegetables, as I would if a compulsion spell had gone wrong."

"It is the textbook example, quite literally," the Professor argued, waving his hand over the text.

"It is equally possible, in that scenario, that I would be rendered unable to eat anything comfortably, react violently to sweets, react poorly to wasted food, or insist others have a similar diet. Again, I don't have any side-effects that would indicate spell damage." Snape nodded and pulled another text forward, signaling the end of the debate.

"In any case, despite how commonly known they are the Dark Lord and his followers don't use compulsion spells simply because they don't care for them and rarely have the opportunity to put them to use. People tend to be galvanized on one side or the other for most of the issues involved, so they aren't helpful." Professor Snape snapped his student's text shut with an air of finality. "Blood magic, though it was rare to the point of nearly being lost before his first rise, is making a significant comeback even in academic circles."

"I don't mean to hijack your train of thought, but does that have anything to do with his pureblood rhetoric?"

"Explain."

"Well," Harry took a breath. Here was someone who actually knew and was willing to teach him what the Death Eaters actually believe. "I've been trying to get a handle on the politics surround all this. What do they think siding with Him will gain?" It itched somewhere in Harry's pride that he couldn't name Voldemort, but it was something the Professor wouldn't allow and on the whole wasn't worth arguing over. "Is there anything in blood magic that could back up their claims?"

.,oO00Oo,.

A/N: Posted in a rush. Off to bed and work in the morning, life as an adult is nothing but joy... Love it while you got it Teenagers!


	20. Flushing Out a Problem

**Chapter 20**

**Flushing Out a Problem**

"The short answer is no, there is not," Snape replied smoothly. He then spun the book around so the text was facing Harry.

"I've had that answer. It was fine in first year, but things have gotten a bit more complicated since then." Snape smirked at this and leaned on the edge of his desk.

"Blood Magic is one branch of Essence Magic, as I was about to explain. Essence is simply the smallest bit of something that can be identified as belonging to a person. Like scent, it is intangible and unique to the wizard in question. Essence is divided into tiers based on the potency of the source material. The first tier is magical residue. Identifiable Residue can be found in an area after a powerful spell is cast, in favorite objects that have become magically charged, in a home after years of habitation, on clothing or other materials that have been consistently exposed to a person's magic, and so on. All magical creatures radiate a small amount of magic, much as warm-blooded creatures radiate heat, which can be absorbed by items. Every spell that is cast leaves behind a residue, but only powerful magic or repeated uses of magic over time leave behind enough that the identity of the caster can be determined." Snape pointed at his desk. "This desk is recognizable as mine to any ownership detection spells not because of any one spell I have cast on it but because I have spent so much time around it and cast so many spells in its immediate vicinity."

"So places and things absorb a bit of the magic they are exposed to over time. Could a detection spell be used on my bed in the tower to list every Gryffindor who has ever used it?" Harry asked.

"Theoretically, yes; practically, no. Residue is the weakest of the essence sources. It degrades over time and can be erased or overshadowed by a stronger influence. If you swapped beds with another of your dorm mates for a week a detection spell might incorrectly identify the owners of the beds in question. In addition, as is the case in a dorm, overlapping essences can blend and warp one another into something entirely unrecognizable. The fundamental volatility of raw magic comes into play a great deal here. There is an old practice not often used anymore for formal duels of a noble victor shedding some of his own blood into the blood of a wounded opponent to render it useless. It makes it impossible for one of them to use it in a malicious way against the other without harming themselves or their own families. A third party wishing them both misfortune could step in, of course, and that is part of why in modern duels vinegar is spread of the dueling arena afterward."

"The second tier is Simple Samples," Snape began to pace, waving to various jars on his shelves. "You will recall from your potions lessons that simple samples are hair, skin scrapings, scabs, dandruff, or anything shed from a body without causing injury. These hold onto their original owner's essence much more readily than an item charged with residue. They can be preserved and used months or years later in potions, spells, and rituals."

"The third tier is where Blood Magic comes in. Complex Samples are any fluid created by the body, excluding waste excretions, as well as any section of a body that is taken leaving an injury. A slice of skin, a drop of blood, tears… these are the most magically charged sources. They are capable of connecting magic back through the source to the wizard it came from."

"That is what, at the core, makes Blood Magic so powerful." Snape took a deep breath, staring intently at a jar containing what appeared to be a whole baby pig. "That deep connection can draw magic from a wizard over a distance, bleeding him to death. This is the point of the most blunt and devastatingly inelegant dark potions. The target simply drops dead of instant magical exhaustion… and the potion on the other end explodes taking the idiot who was brewing it with him."

"However, it is not without polite use. Many magical homes use a bit of blood magic to sustain and protect the family residing within." Snape gestured vaguely, as if referencing furniture he was remembering. "I have seen homes that would change the color and texture of upholstery in a room based on the owners. Upon the death or birth of a new family member there would, over a year or so, be a rearranging of things so that the new dynamic of the family was represented. As a growing child's taste changed, so would the style of the molding in a room or the height of the desk and chair. These enchantments are all heavily restricted in magnitude of power and scope of automation. Hogwarts is a fine example of this. The staircases move so as to be in the optimal position for where everyone needs to go at a certain time. We do not have to set their positions; the castle recognizes the schedule of the student body and within two weeks of the start of term fully adjusts to the traffic flow between classes."

"I always wondered how that worked."

"It is common knowledge to all who have read Hogwarts: A History."

"Hermione beat any curiosity about that book out of me by mercilessly quoting it the entire first year I knew her," Harry laughed. "Would I be correct in saying Hogwarts' own magic is powered by everyone who lives here?"

"Every creature living within the grounds feeds the castle. It absorbs magical residue from spells cast in classrooms, the ambient magical radiation of any person or item kept within, any blood spilt on the grounds, can be intentionally charged by the staff, and incidentally sucks the power out of muggle batteries through a process we are honestly baffled by," the professor explained. "The simple samples collected by the pluming help in determining who belongs in what bedroom, are used in spells that determine likes and dislikes used to make common rooms comfortable to all the inhabitants, and also fuel the castle."

"So if I made a habit of using the girl's room my bed would switch dorms?" Harry joked.

"Hardly," Snape scoffed and slapped his hand on the desk. "This is a serious field of study!"

"Sorry, Sir, but it's hard to keep focused when you are talking about poop. Shall we get off the tangent and back to Blood Magic and how it does or does not relate to Blood Purity?"

"Blood magic connects back to whatever person or family the blood belongs to. It is either specific enough to encapsulate that person's identity or broad enough to affect a family line, but cannot be both things at once," he snapped back shortly.

"So… Why can't that identify who someone's parents are?"

"There are lineage spells that can creep back as far as a person's grandparents giving name, gender, and other basic information. The most sophisticated ones even give natural coloration, but they are useless in determining blood status. If the blood being tested is magical, then the family is magical. If it is not, such as if it comes from a squib, then there is nothing to go on to begin with and thus nothing to trace. Such a test, if given to you, would likely list all four of your grandparents as magical because you have magic in your blood. There is no known way of detangling a target's own magic from their blood enough to ensure a false positive does not occur, and if the magic is stripped or not present to begin with then the whole family tree shows up non-magical. The best statistic for locating muggles in a wizard's grandparents is fifteen percent accuracy. For muggle parents, the statistic climbs only to twenty percent."

"What about going down the family tree, like if someone charmed something to keep track of the family five hundred years ago and it was kept charged and in good condition?"

"There are such artifacts, and they do correctly identify every blood descendents of the original blood donors by name, gender, and a number of other traits including the presence of magical ability. Some have been designed to lit squibs with a line through their names from the start." Snape shrugged. "Unfortunately such items are rare. They are difficult and expensive to make and maintain, requiring a significant amount of magic to keep them charged. In addition, since such items do not understand the failings of humans, they have a tendency to air the families' dirty laundry. "

"Um… what?" Harry re-inked his quill while giving the professor a bewildered expression.

"Illegitimate children would be listed alongside proper heirs of the family without any distinction," Snape explained with a roll of his eyes, "and would be so from the moment of their births. There is, therefore, a motivation to destroy such artifacts or to tamper with them in such a way that makes them unreliable." The professor leaned on his desk with a smirk. Harry had to fight down a chuckle himself at the idea of a wife suddenly seeing an extra woman and child on the family register when she goes to make out Christmas cards. "As youthful, and not so youthful, indiscretions are as common as dirt in the aristocracy, those who have the means to maintain such items often choose not to."

"So there is not 'pureblood test' they could give if, for example, Hermione claimed to be descended from some squib in the Ravenclaw family?" Harry half-joked.

"In general, yes; for that specific example, no. Three of the four founders have left sufficient methods behind that the heirs of their bloodlines could be identified, as is true of many prominent people from magical families. Such methods are closely guarded secrets, partially due to the indiscretions I mentioned earlier, and partially because they tend to involve very old and very delicate artifacts. On top of that, the magic within is Blood Magic and could be twisted to harm the family by someone determined enough to unravel the delicate enchantments and get at the core Blood Magic that fuels it. Most families will deny they exist."

"Secret artifacts that might need to be kept safe from the family they belong to…" Something buzzed in the back of Harry's brain.

"Such has been the start of many fruitless treasure hunts. The quest to find enough such items to create a definitive lineage of every 'pure' witch and wizard that ever was has consumed many over the years." Snape was certainly a skilled orator when he wanted to be. Harry could practically feel the desperate hunger that pushed someone to spend a lifetime searching for something that may not have ever existed. Being an orphan with experience having a desperate need to connect to his parents certainly didn't help him keep a professional distance from the topic. "Should evidence be found that a supposedly muggleborn person may have ties to a specific family, that family may dig their precious items out of mothballs and test the muggleborn in question. Most often, they don't bother. Either sufficient records exist in the ministry, magical or mundane, to prove lineage or they do not and the claim is settled over a stack of birth, marriage, and death certificates."

"Just to clarify, there is no quality to the magic a person has that identifies them as coming from an old family" Harry bluntly stated, quill ready to lay down an absolute.

"None that has ever been discovered, and elitists have been searching their lives away for centuries uncountable," Snape dismissed.

"Is that part of what He has promised? The thing itself or the money and manpower to research and finally find it?"

"What?" the professor was put off balance. "Why does it matter?"

"It's just… I suppose the question I really want to ask is: Other than fear or retribution, why would anyone follow Him? He didn't just pop up one day and demand everyone bow to his will, did He? That would be kind of pathetic if the bulk of the aristocracy bowed down to a single half-crazed halfblood out of fear." Harry shoved the books, and all pretence, away. He had read through everything from the political convention and come up confused. He'd given it all to Hermione and after an evening of study had gotten a solid 'I don't know yet.' Now Harry had been dancing around the point for the last two hours with Snape and wanted a straight answer.

"First off, let's be clear that the Dark Lord is not half-crazed. He is fully and completely insane," Snape insisted.

"Was he always?" Harry asked in exasperation.

"No. In fact, all accounts show that he was incredibly brilliant," Snape nonchalantly turned away. He picked up a book on battle strategies as if to start a new topic.

"Then they weren't bowing down to placate a madman. Answer my question. Other than fear, why do people follow Him?"

"I… can't." Snape seemed stuck in place. The book in his hand shook, his face was twisted in concentration. "I want to." His mouth opened and closed twice. "I know the answer, but I can't think of it."

"That's ridiculous! You joined him, and you aren't a coward. You must know that reason at least, if not general social dynamics."

"Don't be stupid, Potter. Of course I know why people follow the Dark Lord. They…" the professor trailed off into a coughing fit. It didn't look fake.

"Do you not want to tell me? Do you think I'll run off and join him if I agree with some of his politics?"

"I'm not thick. I know nothing would ever make you follow him. It is unimportant anyway. Since he has lost his mind it is unlikely that any of his original political views carries any importance anymore." The professor blinked, took a deep breath, and opened the book in his hand. "There are a number of tactics to choose from when dueling an opponent with greater spell knowledge than yourself. For example…"

"Professor Severus Snape, you are under an oath to teach me anything I need in order to defeat the Dark Lord. Why do his followers take up the cause?" Harry shouted, jumping up and advancing on the professor.

"It is unimportant," Snape snapped back. The tall man took two steps away from the enraged teen.

"No it is not!" Harry stood up and crossed the distance between them in three short legged strides. "If I agree with some of it and make that public, I could strip him of his support base! If I can be seen as a reasonable compromise between the two sides I can rally them both against Him!" He punched the professor in the chest. "I could at the very least make people think a third option is plausible!"

"I…" Snape started coughing again. Badly. It wasn't long before he'd doubled over on the floor. "It's a… good plan," he managed to get out between violent spasms.

"What is wrong with you?" Harry seethed, anger overwhelming him.

"Something… stopping me… can't… speak," Snape gasped.

"That's just fine," Harry snapped, "I though nothing could interfere with you teaching me. You took an oath and you are trying to back out!" _Typical Snape, can't stop being a bastard for any reason. Why did I think I could work with him?_

"That's… right!" the lanky man latched onto Harry's leg desperately. "Nothing is more important," he gasped. "The oath overrides everything… you made it so… I will teach you… everything. Anything."

"Let go of my leg!" Harry reached down to wrench the long fingers off him. How dare that slimy snake touch him!

"Let nothing else… Let nothing else interfere with this oath's magic," the professor managed. A band of light pulsed on each of their wrists. Suddenly Harry felt calm. It was like walking into an air-conditioned building during a record breaking heat wave.

Harry swore creatively for a moment. Snape joined him.

"You were prevented from answering me," was the first repeatable thing Harry said in his litany.

"How were you affected?" The professor said at length.

"Anger. Pure boiling rage and hatred focused on you."

"Now, how do you feel now?" Snape asked, straightening his robes.

"Pissed," Harry admitted, "but not at you." He cocked his head this way and that much the way he would if he was Imber, jerkily assessing the man before him and the situation they found themselves in. "Mild respect for a harassed hermit with vast knowledge on several topics I find fascinating and necessary for my survival; highly irritated that something nearly drove me to enjoy watching you die; personally offended that my emotions from our previous interactions were manipulated without my noticing; bloodthirsty toward the person responsible for this." Harry decided he was going to spend some time with his feathers as soon as he could. Avian thought patterns seemed easier to hold on to in the aftermath of whatever was digging at his brain a moment ago.

"I'll second that last statement," Snape drawled with some amusement in his voice. "However there are a number of possibilities as to the source. A number of restrictions on my actions could have come into play." Snape counted them off on his fingers. "An inability to actively recruit for the Dark Lord would make it impossible for me to list reasons one would want to enter his service, something that any auror involved in the legal proceedings over a decade ago when Albus listed me as his spy could have dropped on me. Then, of course, there are several member of the Order who have never trusted me who could have done similar spellwork. On the other side, no one is fully aware of everything the Dark Mark entails. Sharing such information with someone who would never come into the fold might be restricted. A Death Eater not convinced of my role as a double agent could have placed the enchantment, as could a parent of one of my students who wants a little extra insurance that I will not talk politics in the classroom."

"You said it was unimportant, twice," Harry pointed out. "It was only when you refused to accept the premise of 'why people join Him is unimportant' that the spell started to fail so dramatically. It also affected me so I wouldn't mind what it was doing to you."

"The Oath we took together was failing, and the protection of the oath that you called into play failed you," Snape corrected. "The hate you felt must have come from elsewhere, potentially your natural opinion of me, but has been blocked by the Oath to make our lessons possible."

"My natural opinion of you is not hatred," Harry scoffed. "Don't be melodramatic."

"Up until this year…"

"You once jumped in front of a werewolf to save my skin. I may not have liked you, I may have even found you to be an insufferably biased ass, but I didn't hate you. I might have said something different when I was eleven, but I use the excuse that I was_ eleven _when I felt that way to invalidate that opinion."

"Point well taken, but that leaves us with some rather nasty enchantments as the point of origin."

"Perhaps we should switch topics from Blood Magic to curse removal or broad-spectrum magical cleansing?"

"Perhaps," Snape agreed and walked over to his desk. He rummaged around for a few moments before pulling out a pair of vials. "We may have trip to the hospital wing in our near futures, but this will clear our systems of any lower level enchantments we may be carrying around. I keep them on hand for clearing up after fights. Rooting out deeper spells will take a bit of thought and more specific means, but that can be handled after the diarrhea has cleared our systems."

"Bottoms up, professor," Harry sighed and knocked back the oily brew. It tasted strongly of sage.

"To be on the safe side," the professor winced as he spoke, "we should probably make this a habit until we are clearer on the forces involved. Broad spectrum cleansing is almost unilaterally ritual magic involving days of preparation and proper timing with moon phases and solar positioning. I will have to do some research, but we may have to deal with half-measures until we can be certain of the variables."

"We've got a solstice coming. We can see if any of the pertinent purification rituals will work with that. I had plans for this Christmas break," Harry groaned, "but I suppose we've got to keep our priorities in order."

"Quite right, Mr. Potter," Snape agreed with a gesture to the door. "In the meantime go back to your dorm… and stay near the loo."

* * *

A/N: Hello everyone! I really didn't give Snape enough credit when I wrote out the outline to this story way back in 2004 when I started this. J.K. made him such an epic character... and made him so painfully boring! Anyway, the plot thickens for our protagonists here in my alternate universe. Eleven pages with just the two of them, all dialogue. Comments are greatly appreciated, constructive criticism worshiped, and flames used to toast marshmallows. If the heatwave here in Philadelphia is as bad as they say it will be I may even have more as I hide in my bedroom from the heat with only my notebooks (electronic and not) to keep me entertained...


	21. In A Broken Mirror

Chapter 21** In A Broken Mirror**

The next week was one of the most uncomfortable Harry had endured in recent memory. Professor Snape sent him at least two potions a day, all of which had very personal side effects. Professor Sprout asked if he needed to talk and mentioned that Madam Pomfrery was also available if he had personal or medical issues, as it was not uncommon for them to field such discussions from students and never breach confidence. If he didn't know better Harry would wonder if the Professor was deliberately torturing him, but it was clear that Snape was enduring the same regimen.

It went unspoken that nothing more would be said on any topic until they had dealt with the compulsions and restrictions they were operating under. So long as they were working together under the Oath they were probably all right, but the moment they shifted tone the compulsions reasserted themselves; it was too big a risk. Harry, who had immediately gone into "phoenix-time" upon leaving the Professor that evening and devoted the entire extra two days to searching out anti-compulsion magic, was the first to draw up a plan for a full-body ritual fumigation. The Dark Mark was a major variable, but the working theory was that the thing was impervious to anything anyone had come up with thus far and so long as they didn't focus specifically on removing it broad-spectrum magic would slide around it without causing the caster or bearer any trouble.

The basis for the ritual was pulled out of the Potter Book, and was originally designed for use by the family after a particularly nasty war a couple dozen decades ago. Some slight modifications by Snape brought it up to modern times. Essentially everything was geared for 'rebirth with the sun' meaning it had to be performed on the winter solstice. It would be mildly uncomfortable to rather painful depending on how much magic was buzzing around them, but it would strip them both clean of any magic not their own with a few exceptions. Permanent transfigurations were particularly important exceptions as they were the modus operandi for healers, as was protective magic. Harry figured his mother's protection was void due to what Voldemort had done, but Snape supposed it protected Harry from forces other than the man himself and so made sure it would stand. Considering how intrinsic it was to Harry's own magic, it was unlikely to have been affected in any case.

Harry made it to the next Friday before Hermione and Ron cornered him and demanded to know what in blazes had him so wound up. When he told them, the reaction complicated everything.

"What about us? We could be enchanted too!" Ron shouted, showing a rather brilliant flash of tactical genius. "In fact, whoever cast the mess on you probably added all sorts of suggestions not to talk about it layered underneath, so that even if you got clean it wouldn't alert anyone else for a good long while if ever."

So they all went down to the dungeon that evening grabbing Ginny, Fred, and George for good measure. After twenty minutes of deliberation and the solidification of the fact that yes, ladies, the naked part is absolutely necessary, the Professor went back to grading and the Gryffindors started planning an emergency meeting of the DA. Ensconced in the Room of Requirement they put their heads together.

"Explain again the problem…"

"…with just telling everyone." Fred then George started them off, claiming a pair of thrones with fizzy drinks on the arms.

"We don't want to alert whoever cast the enchantments on me and Snape," Hermione provided. Her own lavender chair provided a cup of chamomile tea.

"Who says it's the same person, anyway?" Ron asked. The red and gold armchair he sat in looked much like the ones from the common room. "I'm with the twins. We should tell everyone you had a compulsion spell on you and how to go about checking themselves."

"The spells are nearly undetectable after they settle," Hermione scoffed, "besides, that is exactly why we can't alert anyone. The spells could have been cast by anyone at any time. They could have been cast last week or last year for all we know. Whoever did it could put the spells back."

"We'll present it like personal hygiene back in Muggle school," Harry proposed from his beanbag. He set down his juice in preparation for the questions to come.

"What?" Ginny asked, voicing the bewilderment on the pureblood side of the room. Her chair was rather ornate gold and blue with a little plate of finger cookies.

"Personal hygiene is part of the standard education curriculum. It's basically how to take care of yourself: why and how you should go about eating well, being clean, and exercising."Hermione went easily into textbook mode. "We did a session on aiming and wand care in the N.O.D. level. We make this a full D.A. meeting about keeping yourself clean of unwanted enchantments. The focus stays off anyone in particular and instead goes to the fact that we are in a war and everyone is possibly in danger of being enchanted."

"A little paranoid…" George joked, and looked to his twin when Fred didn't immediately finish the sentence.

"No," Fred said. He the crossed his legs and focused on his drink.

"Perhaps we could use a little paranoia," Harry said when it became clear Fred wasn't going to elaborate. "Let's look at the raw facts: Two people were found to be under enchantments that they were unaware of. Due to their nature it is entirely possible that the spells were unrelated and cast by different people for different reasons at different times. That gives us the strong possibility that there are two people out there who willing to cast behavior altering magic on unwilling and unaware targets."

"We don't know that. Professor Snape could have been enchanted years ago during his trial or by You-Know-Who himself," Ron argued.

"It doesn't matter," Harry said with finality. "It's my privacy on the line and I say we don't get into the specifics. We just have to make them paranoid enough to want to strip down naked outdoors in bloody December before dawn, paint themselves in an acrid smelling mess, and sing until it stops burning."

"I'm doing it," Fred said suddenly. "I'm doing it every year as long as we're in business. Occupational hazard with all we're exposed to during the testing stages, not to mention unhappy customers."

"Something wrong?" George asked, a little off balance with Fred's atypical brusqueness.

"You don't know everything about me, brother," Fred answered. He then stood and walked to the door. "Throw out a few possibilities; bring up the old tales of mothers who have ruined their children by lovingly using magic to guide them down the path they wish their children to take." Fred closed the door firmly behind himself, leaving George looking crushed in his wake. Silence filled the room for several minutes.

"George, are you all right?" Ginny asked.

"You don't think Mum did something to him, do you?" George asked. "He isn't acting any differently than he ever has… but if it was years ago then that would be the point, right?"

"What, like she enchanted Fred to act like you when he was four or something?" Ron asked. "That would be mental."

"It would be," Hermione agreed, "but maybe he took offense to something. He's angry and he took it very seriously. Perhaps he knows something."

"And he didn't tell me?" George asked, lost. "Something serious enough to make him… he didn't tell me!"

"Calm down, George," Ron tried. Ginny got up to put her hand on her brother's shoulder. George pushed her away and stood, dragon hide WWW orange vest peeking out from beneath his school robes.

"George," Harry's voice halted the taller man mid-step. "Whatever it is, he isn't ready to talk about it. I know what that's like. Let him tell you. He wouldn't keep it from you if it wasn't important."

George nodded once then walked out.


	22. The Memorandum

Chapter 22 The Memorandum of 1952

Harry looked down at Imber's desk in the abandoned classroom. The whole room had become Imber's within his thoughts. He had just unpacked for the first weekend in December and piled everything on the freshly re-transfigured desk (transfigurations had a tendency to revert over time. He was surprised anything remained more than a week, but the desk chair and perch seemed to be holding up for a third go around and the bookcase was still up from last week). There were too many piles.

First, he had the DA. All three levels required regular reports (just like all the other clubs in the school, but because it was split up he had to report each one separately) as well as plans for the meetings. He had to juggle several schedules, including all four Quidditch teams and the choir practices, to make sure there were as few conflicts as possible.

Next, the Potter finances and all the mess that came with them. He had to learn to handle, or at least cope with, the responsibilities of his family holdings. He was a member of the elite society, not that anyone had ever bothered mentioning it to him. Even if he wasn't the Boy Who Lived he would have been a Somebody in society, and he was woefully underprepared.

Third, he had the Naga issue and the possibility of snatching an ally out from under the Dark Lord. He had not yet had the chance to go over half of the research he'd pulled out about the snake-people. He hoped dearly they spoke the same language other snake breeds did. He'd even made note to go back down and see what else might be in the Chamber of Secrets – the name was plural after all – and had nearly forgotten about it.

Fourth, there was the problem of teaching about compulsion charms without giving everything he knew away. Hermione dug up a scanning spell that detected mind-altering magic. It was a little tricky to cast due to some precise wand movements, but it revealed how far 'under the influence' a person was. Without such a charm, well cast compulsions were only manifested in how they affected a person's behavior, and so were noticeable only from outside observation by friends and family. Ron had glowed strongly, Hermione and Ginny much less so, but Harry had lit up like a newborn sun. The contract they had signed when they entered the DA last year contained some mind magic, and so everyone in the original club would glow slightly from that. Something in him detested the idea of sharing a ritual out of his Potter book with the general public, and he planned on making them do that bit of research themselves.

Fifth, he had Malfoy. He'd managed to confuse the hell out of the blond, to what end he wasn't sure. He wanted to destroy Voldemort's support base, and the other boy was a means to that end. Exactly how to go about getting him in line with Harry's ideals he didn't know, and had a lot to do with Harry's final problem.

Finally, there was politics. A letter had come from Sebastian, though Harry hadn't opened it yet. He'd raced from the hall at full speed when the letter arrived, decorated with a small heart at the end of the 'y' in in his name. He'd been promised a copy of the Memorandum of 1952 and couldn't wait to get some solid answers about Pure Blood politics. The other answers he was waiting for in the letter probably deserved their own pile, but he was out of desk space.

Harry opened the letter, skipping the hand written part with great difficulty and focusing on a rough typed page.

_**Memorandum**_

_July 31, 1952_

_Resolved: Our way of life is slowly rotting away._

_Resolved: Change comes from nature, and is an essential point of life._

_Resolved: Our religion is fading, being replaced with the views of those who once burnt us at the stake._

_Resolved: Our economy is weak and stagnant._

_Resolved: Magical research is nearly nonexistent._

_Suppose: We could revive our way of life?_

_Suppose: We could bend change to our will and be reborn?_

_Suppose: We could have the old teach the new?_

_Suppose: We were an international beacon of wealth?_

_Suppose: We had new and unmatched political power?_

_Truth: This can be done._

_Truth: This must be done._

_We must hold our heritage sacred; hold it high above the twisting currents of time. Join together side by side and march into a new day secure in the knowledge of our past. Look around you, see what has fallen into disrepair, and raise your wands to fix it._

Harry read it twice. He was almost certain this was written by Voldemort himself, given the date and what he'd been told of Tom Riddle's life before open war broke out in 1964. He should be repulsed. He should hate every word and disagree with a fiery passion that would fuel him in battle. Instead, he agreed. He had as much as said the same things during the political convention. The word 'stagnant' summed up most of the magical world in his experience. The last line was particularly moving and if anyone had followed that bit of advice they must have quit before Harry turned eleven. The bit about bending change smelled off, and unmatched power of any kind was obvious honey to lure a Slytherin mind, but on the whole he liked it.

He felt rather cheated.

The letter from Samuel was rather private, and he blushed scarlet at the passionate way his new boyfriend wrote. There was nothing inhibiting or holding back Samuel; that much was clear. Samuel had decided that, so long as their personal relationship was kept quiet he was in no more danger from the Death Eaters than he already was as an independent openly gay fashion designer. No one had stormed Madam Malkin's door for making the Headmaster's robes (Harry's opinion of Madam Malkin's taste dropped several levels upon learning she made those hideous rainbow things) during the last war and it was unlikely he would be killed for making Harry's dress robes. He fully intended to take credit for them and launch a line of tasteful, conservatively cut but colorful designs featuring subtle luxury for the modern wizard. Samuel confirmed Harry's impression that while witches' clothing was varied, wizards either wore boring neutral kits that were nearly muggle, heavy black Victorian monstrosities, or motion-sickness inducing kaleidoscopes.

After that, the letter devolved into detailed descriptions of the sorts of things their clandestine meetings could contain if they ever actually happened. Samuel seemed to think they wouldn't get much chance until Harry left Hogwarts, as he wouldn't be able to safely leave the school. During the day Harry could show Samuel some part of the muggle world, where no one would know them. While at home, Harry would be free to sneak out of his window with no curious dorm mates to worry about. They could meet at the corner of Knockturn Ally and Diagon Ally late some warm night and take a room at a seedy place not far up the dark street. What they could get up to in the hours before dawn ranged from innocent to pornographic, with assurances that they would only advance as far as Harry wanted and enough detail that Harry would be sorely tempted. He had also mentioned, as gently as he could, that Harry was underage Samuel was not the type to break the law casually. He intended to court Harry properly.

Samuel was incredible, but he had too much else to do to spend all day re-reading the letter. Harry pulled over some blank parchment to write Samuel back. It took a longer than he expected, when he checked is watch afterward it was half past noon! Harry immediately dug into the DA forms. He had deadlines to meet.

* * *

A/N: Short, yes, but I hope this moves things forward. Harry has been doing a lot of talking, and there have been complaints this is out of character. Yes, Harry was a quiet child, but now he has a bug up his butt and a room full of DA club members to teach. You will note that any teacher I write talks quite a lot during lecture. (I can not say that is not sarcasm, but I also mean it as an observation of writing style. It is more awkward to summarize what is going on rather than letting the characters play it out.) As for the political chapter, Harry can't help being who he is and in my mind he is a born leader. I have read several powerful!Harry stories where he immediately starts grandstanding and gathering a political following. My Harry has less confidence and is more aware of how much he doesn't know. He isn't running for office _yet_, after all.


	23. Coming Clean, Politically

Coming Clean, Politically

Even though Harry increased his 'phoenix time' to include Friday, giving him a ten day week, time still seemed to fly by. After much debate, they decided to spin the compulsion issue as accumulated magical garbage. While most families had methods for dealing with the buildup of magical residue as part of a coming of age celebration, it wasn't something that muggleborns were likely to do. The Golden Trio would have been exposed to more dangerous magic due to their misadventures, but everyone at Hogwarts is exposed to intense or failed spells every day. Alarmingly the Weasley's did not have any such tradition. Ginny sent a letter to Bill about it. The curse breaker confirmed that he regularly scrubbed himself in case some of the curses he worked with left something dangerous behind, but stressed that he only cleaned off surface magic.

Some families, including theirs, believed that the magical residue children built up around themselves was a kind of 'living magic' and scrubbing it all off had risks. This magic was part of a person, some of it cast on themselves during early childhood and sustained subconsciously, and stripping it off could affect their personality or physical appearance. He included a set of mild clearing charms that he recommended Harry or Hermione use after serious thought and with great care, but stressed that it would be against their family tradition if Ginny used them. It was an interesting viewpoint, and George remembered their Mother saying something about it when they were very small, but it didn't change anyone's mind about going through with the ritual cleanse.

Given the reaction Harry had to the potions, he was cautious about casting the charms immediately as Fred wanted. They performed the mild charms that Saturday afternoon, since none of them had anything planned for Sunday morning. They all slept like rocks afterward, indicating both that the charms worked properly and that they had a significant amount of magical garbage to remove.

The goblins sent over Harry's latest statements along with a few books Harry requested from his vault. A very large scroll listed all the services that Gringotts provided, from marriage contracts to money transfers, and the associated fees. Imagining goblin child care services made Harry a little ill. The books he requested were referenced in his Potter Book and primarily concerned the 'best practices' and fiscal theory the Potters had based their fortune on in recent centuries. There were hints about interracial trade and it made Harry wonder if some of the magical races would have a vested financial interest in following him instead of Voldemort. The goblins seemed to have made their allegiance clear: whoever was more profitable. He would simply have to be more profitable. He also got two books on etiquette and tradition. His Potter book only held traditions specific to his family and listed ones that they had intentionally shunned for various reasons (they were a light family, most obviously, and intentionally ignored some of the darker traditions surrounding death and loss.) He had truly made an ass of himself without knowing it at the Yule Ball and did not intend to repeat the performance.

Thinking of the ball, he had managed to get Miss Dewgall alone to explain to her that he wasn't interested in dating anyone despite going to the ball with her. They would go together and have a good time. She understood, and made a sarcastic crack about the most incompetent Slytherin grasping the idea of a mutually beneficial arrangement better than he ever could. The sarcasm didn't cover her disappointment or the clear implication that she intended to change his mind, but Harry considered his duty as a gentleman done. She came to D.A. meetings as promised and promptly displayed a complete inability to aim. Potions may run in the family, but the dueling platform was to her what dry land was to a fish. Harry immediately dropped her down to N.O.D. level until she stopped endangering the room whenever she pulled out a wand. It was embarrassing to her, but Harry couldn't leave her in R.E.D. without gross favoritism. Malfoy and company were not happy at the implied insult, but at least they were still coming. Parkinson made a rather lewd comment about Olivia being kept out of the higher levels.

"If you believe in her ability that much, then I suggest you work with her. If she can hit a stationary target nine times out of ten, I'll promote her to R.E.D," Harry responded. At the next N.O.D. meeting Olivia confirmed that she couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. She also told Harry Parkinson hadn't said a word to her all year. He left that meeting with the odd feeling that she expected to become his girlfriend if she could get into A.I.D. before the dance. Well, that was about as likely as Professor McGonnagal asking him out, so he should be safe.

The Memorandum was a dangerous and insidious piece of literature, according to an angry letter from Remus Lupin. It was grossly out of character for the usually logical man to go off on a tirade, so Harry's next letter to the grieving wolf, sent that same day, was a trial run of the spin Harry was going to put on the cleansing ritual. Hermione helped him write it, ensuring he hit all the important points much the way she went over a homework assignment.

_Dear Moony,_

_I've gotten a lot off concern about my health lately, mental and physical. Hermione found something about cleansing and clearing rituals in the library. I brought a book with me from the house about wizard traditions. (I know what my parents and Sirius thought about pureblood stuff, but I was curious. No one ever bothered to tell me stuff like the meaning behind sending a girl certain flowers or how to address the head of a household. Not that I have anyone in mind or anything, but eventually I'll need to know about courting and stuff.) The book mentioned something about a coming of age clearing ritual. It didn't have the incantation, just a description of why it is important. _

_According to our research, I might be magically contaminated. Everyone gets exposed to stuff in class, but we've been through more than the average students. All the failed spells in the D.A. meetings last year, all the dark magic I have been exposed to, and all the random crap that has happened to me since my parents died could have built up around me like poison slime. Ginny wrote to Bill about it, and he warned about scrubbing too hard. He sent over the clearing charms he uses for work; they are very mild. They will only clear away residue, not intentional magic, so I don't have to worry about messing with anything vital. _

_Hermione thinks it is more important in dark families because they are exposed to more dangerous magic, and that's why light families might lean more to the 'living magic' argument. Light magic residue isn't as likely to do harmful things. I'm going to tell the D.A. about it too. Maybe after the clearing charms I'll feel more like myself. I'm including the instructions for you. I would feel better if you used them. They are supposed to help with emotional things, and I read about traditions in some families where these kind of mild charms are used a few months after a death in the family. The Marauders are a family of sorts, after all, even if there are only two of us left._

_Yours,_

_Harry_

As December raced past them, a tear-stained reply promising that Remus planned to use the clearing charms immediately upon sending the owl arrived. Harry provided the clearing charms to every level of the D.A. with instructions to the lower years to give the scrolls to their parents over the holiday. In R.E.D. he stressed that due to the nature of their club and the sheer volume of magic they were exposed to within it, they should use some form of clearing charm over holiday with their parents or, for muggleborn students, before they left. In A.I.D. he laid down a harder truth.

"Voldemort started a war before we were born. We have been involved in that war, one way or another, since our births. Our parents were all affected. I am not saying you have to do this, but I am strongly suggesting you use them and pass them on to your families." Harry started.

"The clearing charms we passed out in the general meeting are very, very mild," Ginny picked up. "They are some of the weakest clearing charms out there. Your own families may have their own traditions, with stronger charms or rituals. Some families have strong opinions about living magic and we do not mean to offend, but the fact remains that both our generation and the generation before us are at greater risk of magical contamination because of the war. It can affect your physical appearance, personality, likes and dislikes, and even your weaknesses. There could be something blocking a bit of your magic, or a strong self-cast spell you no longer need splitting your magical power without you knowing. My family believes strongly in living magic, but that does not stop us from using these mild spells to clear away unimportant garbage."

"I think of it as pruning a plant to give it more room to grow healthy," Neville added. "Mild clearing spells like these are in line with my family's traditions. It leaves behind intentional, active, and conscious magic, so if you have corrected your own eyesight or something similar that won't be stripped away."

"That is a lot of justification," Malfoy drawled. "Feeling guilty about acting like a pureblood for once?"

"Muggleborns like myself need to be educated about these spells." Hemione jumped in before anyone else could respond. "This may be old news to you, but it is vital information not taught at Hogwarts. Pureblood society assumes that everyone already knows about these spells and why they are important."

"It isn't just about that," Harry cut off Hermione's preaching tone. "We are providing you with an argument. You already agree with us, great, but there are those who do not think it is important, forgot about it, never heard of it, or put it off. We aren't just asking you to use these spells yourself, we are asking you to spread them. They are falling out of use and that isn't just anti-pureblood politics, it's dangerous! Failed spells can lead to all kinds of damage, some of it too subtle to send someone to the hospital wing. The arguments about living magic are also important as most light families believe strongly in its benefits."

"You want me to teach mudbloods and blood traitors to perform old wizarding traditions?" Malfoy asked, his entire body radiating disbelief. "You want…"

"I want you to show muggleborns and half-bloods that some old traditions are important; not because you or anyone else demands that they are, but because their life will be easier and better for following them." Harry explained, and it felt like victory.

Snape continued to provide Harry with potions, and extended the courtesy to the other Gryffindors as well. Their meetings focused on dueling through the end of term, as that was a safe topic. Between the potion side effects and the bruises he got dueling, Harry was looking a little worn around the edges. Rumors about his sudden love of cleansing magic were connected to his worn appearance and the idea that the latter caused the former was the popular wisdom. By the end of term any first year could tell you that the buildup of magical residue could cause health problems and removing it could have side effects depending on how much you 'unloaded.' It was far better, the gossips would tell you with passionate certainty, not to let it build up so much in the first place by performing regular cleansing.

Some upper year students in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were given permission from their families to teach their own more powerful cleansing spells for anyone who wanted them. Several students missed morning classes after ignoring the warning written in bright red ink on the instructions about not using clearing charms on a school night. The Quibbler dedicated an entire issue to magical residue. Mr. Lovegood published a copy of the scroll Harry gave out championing the virtues of getting clean along with an article by Mr. Lovegood about living magic. The Lovegood family had always believed living magic to be sacred and preserving it was in keeping with the old religion; however, he also presented the argument Neville had come up with about pruning away the clutter. He even published a short interview Luna had done about the Longbottom family's view of living magic to show the moderate stance. The end result was a clear picture of all three points of view: strip it all off and stand apart from the magic you control, prune off the old and weak magic to nurture the bits that are more attached, or let your aura grow and absorb all the magic you come in contact with to become one with the flow of nature.

Harry felt sorry for Mr. Lovegood, as the reputation of his family as 'loony' made his passionate support for the spirituality of living magic into a good reason to pick either of the other viewpoints. The gossip mill had finally discovered what was 'wrong' with Luna Lovegood, declaring her an object lesson about what happens after generations of magical buildup. Her repeated declarations that she would not now nor would ever in the future 'rip off such an important part of my magic' probably convinced more people to use the charms than not. Harry wondered if that was intentional, but Luna didn't seem that devious.

The Headmaster was not happy, being noticeably less jovial at meals, but didn't do anything much that Harry was aware of to stop the wave of fanatic cleanliness. Harry overheard a muggleborn second year in N.O.D. say that they had asked the Headmaster and been told that using that kind of magic was dangerous to very young wizards and that they should wait until they were of age unless their parents said otherwise. That piece of wisdom was taken as gospel truth by first and second years, but most everyone above third year did not consider themselves 'very young' and a few even dared to point out that the Headmaster was as loony as the Lovegoods.

Harry almost didn't remember his exams and hoped he did well on them as he prepared for the ritual. One component was a potion that had to be brewed by the person using it, a common enough component in such spells that Professor Snape set up private brewing areas for any and all students who needed them. Harry got a strong impression from both Professor Snape and McGonagall that the surly man had fought tooth and nail to get that done against the Headmaster's wishes.

It was a quiet thing, but Harry slowly realized that this was one of the political issues in the conflict between the Light lead by Dumbldore and the Dark lead by Voldemort. Malfoy's shock at hearing Harry promoting a nearly dark pureblood tradition was suddenly cast in another light, as was the Quibbler's insistence in pointing out that Harry Potter was the source of the scrolls about clearing charms. He had managed to offend both of the polarized sides, open up a middle ground, and get nearly everyone he knew to agree to stand on that middle ground without so much as a thought to the political side of things. It wasn't until Samuel sent Harry a letter asking how that bit of brilliant political maneuvering would help the war effort that the reality of what he'd done hit home. There was no larger political scheme, he had simply been doing what was right, but when he told that to Samuel he received a hurt reply about not being trusted with the truth.

After all, Harry had changed the mind of old Mr. Peters, and that wasn't something easily done. Samuel had apparently received a letter from his grandfather asking after his health, the first such letter since he'd come out of the closet, and suggesting that their family tradition of mild clearing at age seventeen and prior to marriage was insufficient. Apparently, yearly mild clearing was the new way to live, and those in certain professions were expected to take greater precautions as needed. Mr. Peters was quite interested in how much residue the spells Samuel worked with left behind, and had even asked about a good time to visit his estranged grandson. Aside from the insinuation that Samuel's homosexuality could be cured by a strong enough clearing or cleansing charm, it was a startling confirmation that Harry's campaign had reached beyond Hogwarts's walls.

Suddenly the term was over. Nearly every student over third year cast their clearing charms after dinner on the last day of exams, giving them two days recovery time before the Hogwarts express arrived. The Solstace was four days away, and Harry's group would be staying at Hogwarts to perform the spells without breaking underage sorcery laws. A Hufflepuff Fourth year Harry had never met was brought to lunch the next day in tears having discovered that she did not have her mother's natural blond curls, her hair now a wavy brown. Some quick deductions revealed that she had used a spell Malfoy had taught her that was very powerful.

"What are you so upset about anyway?" Malfoy huffed when accusations started flying. "It worked perfectly, and now you know who you really are."

"But, my hair…" she wailed, leaning over the green tablecloth as she sat across from him.

"Don't come crying to me about blond hair! Everyone knows my mother was born a Black and what color do you imagine her hair is naturally? Of course I was lucky to inherit my father's looks properly. Have your mother take you to a salon and your hair will be right back the way it was." Harry couldn't help himself, and laughed at the indignant blonde's discomfort at having a hoard of Hufflepuff girls showing house unity by sitting around him at the Slytherin table and bursting into sympathetic tears.

"Feeling a little defensive about something, Malfoy?" Harry asked when he got his breath back. He brushed his hair out of his eyes. He'd had to do that a lot lately.

"You know Mindy, you aren't the only one whose hair changed," Ginny said, sliding up through a gap in the crowd and beside Malfoy so that the Hufflepuff could see her. "Harry hasn't had to cut his hair since he was seven or something like that, and now look at him. It's an even bigger mess now!"

"That's impossible." Harry stopped to think a moment. He remembered telling the Mrs. Weasley about his last haircut from Aunt Petunia and it's miraculous regrowth more than once when she threatened to 'fix it' with a few quick snips. The now-brunette girl looked up at Harry. "My hair never grows…" Harry pulled at his bangs, realizing he could nearly touch his chin with them. "…or it never did, except to go back the way it was the next day whenever it was cut. I guess I've just lost my protection from your Mum's scissors, Ginny. Good thing I'm staying at Hogwarts this Christmas!"

"If you try to grow it out long she'll stick you to a chair and shave it off the second you come in the door, mate," Ron laughed. "She can't do it to Bill since he moved out, but she'll have you bald in thirty seconds flat!"

"I need a plan… Hey, Fred! George! I need your professional opinion on something!" Harry called across the hall, walking away from a much happier Hufflepuff. Forget the ritual, he had bigger problems to prepare for.

.o00o.

A/N: Much longer update this time, and some real movement in the plot. I wanted to include the actual ritual in this, but I have some twelve hour shifts coming up and I wouldn't be able to work on it again until the end of next week. So I ended it on a joke rather than a cliffhanger. All thanks can be submitted in the form of caffeinated tea and nutritional meal shakes. Yay liquid diet?


	24. Dawn Ritual

Please Review**  
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**Dawn Ritual**

An open-air courtyard before dawn on December 21st is not an optimal place and time to be naked. Luckily, he didn't have to be naked during the tedious process of inscribing the runic outlines on the flagstone using a mixture of potion and chalk. The diagram would help him keep everything spaced and timed properly and greatly reduced the difficulty and danger. Once it got going, the magic could be disorienting, so casting a series of spells at certain points would be nearly impossible. It also had traditional meaning and the runes acted as a network of mild containment and defensive spells, preventing the magic from damaging the surrounding area. Harry was definitely sorry he didn't take runes starting in third year. He cast a couple privacy wards to keep people from walking in on him and folded his green and brown casual robes.

The first step in the ritual was setting eight towering flames at the intersections of the diagram. First, he set one in each cardinal direction, asking for support from the elements. Then there were four more between the first set asking for support from his ancestors. Once Harry was surrounded by a circle of flaming pillars seven feet tall it was toasty enough even in the December wind. If he looked closely, he could see the light of two sets of similar pillars at the top of the astronomy tower where the girls were set up for their own ritual. He didn't know where the twins or Snape were, but Ron was down by the docks.

Harry started the chant, walking slowly along the anti-clockwise chalk spiral to the center. The words were simple, which was good. Almost as soon as he started the ritual multi colored sparks started lifting off his skin and swirling around in disorienting patterns. It felt bizarre, like peeling layers of masking tape from his entire body. When he got to the center of the spiral he kneeled, lightheaded and disoriented. He only knew he was facing east because the diagram told him so. The air was swirling around him fast enough to bend the pillars of fire into one another creating a cylinder of multicolored flames that sputtered and sparked wherever they engulfed the ribbons of magic peeling away from Harry's body. He had the distinct feeling of something draining away, eerily reminiscent of how he felt in the Chamber of Secrets when the basilisk bit him.

According to the book, the ritual would first lift off all the magic attached to him on the surface. Once the multicolored storm finished with the surface, it would start drawing out and purifying magic from his core. Eventually all his magic would spin out, like water from a sponge in a centrifuge, to be burnt clean in the flame walls.

The book said it would hurt, and he thought he was ready for that. Harry was no stranger to pain and had prepared himself to endure any aches the spell threw his way. Physically, he felt like he'd been wrapped in a warm swirling soup. Harry was completely blindsided by the raw emotional pain. Betrayal, thick and sickening roiled in his stomach. He felt abandoned, angry, humiliated, and scared. A revelation of knowledge of who had cast what on him was part of the spell. At the end, when all his magic was spun out, it would snap back into him and he would know what had been stripped away. So long as he was familiar with the magic of the caster, he would also know who put the spells on him. The more malicious magic stripped, the more intense the maelstrom of magic would be as the spells fought against the ritual.

Harry pressed his hands against the flagstone. That was down. It had to be down, and the opposite way would be up. Everything was spinning and swirling around him, or was he spinning? No, he had his hands pressed to the flagstone. It was a good thing the spell had enough momentum and the runes were programmed to do the rest of the work; he couldn't remember the chant anymore. It was hard enough to keep track of up and down. The stone was down. The maelstrom was up. He could focus on that, on the press of his hands on the stone. It was cool against his palms, and the magic was breathing dragon fire above him.

Down disappeared.

There was fire and lightning and nothing else. There was no sense of time or space, just bright flames and flashing magic. He was lost in it, so much so that he couldn't process what was going on. Then, suddenly everything went quiet, dark, and still. His forehead was pressed to the flagstone, his body folded in thirds where he kneeled, unmoving. The first rays of dawn were so dim in comparison to the blinding light from before that he couldn't tell if his eyes were open or closed.

"What the fuck? Potter?" a voice asked. Harry was still too disoriented to move.

"Must be a cleansing ritual;" another male voice piped up, "probably went wrong somewhere, I wonder if he's made a squib of himself."

"Shut up Zabini, he could be hurt!" a girl's voice this time. "His clothes burnt off!"

"Can someone cover him up?" another girl asked. "Or have you gentlemen lost your manners?"

"I'm not touching him," the first voice… Malfoy's voice.

"I thought my name was Pansy," the second female voice sighed, exasperated. There was a spell cast and a cloth dropped over Harry's back.

"That's one hell of a rune array," Zabini's voice was closer now. "Seven power bands, no… this is… sweet Circe that's insane!"

"What are you babbling about? I'm not in Runes," Parkinson asked.

"This is a power bleed array, and that's a recycle point," Zabini started to explain.

"Who cares?" Malfoy groaned. "We'll miss breakfast."

"Potter isn't in Runes either," the second girl said. "How could he write something like this?"

"These arrays are deadly," Zabini interrupted, panic in his voice. "This is a suicide, or a murder. It sucked out all his magic and burnt it."

"He's dead?" Malfoy asked.

"No," Harry said, startling the Slytherins enough that they all yelped, "just very stiff and disoriented."

"How the fuck?" Zabini swore. "You should be dead."

"Feedback loop, the magic gets pumped back into the target at the end of the cycle," Harry explained. He moved his fingers experimentally. He was stiff, but not painfully so. Internally, his magic was settling back into place. "Give me another minute and I'll scrape myself off the floor."

"I've never seen a cleansing ritual like this." Harry had never spoken much with Zabini. The dark-skinned boy had come to a few DA meetings but wasn't part of Malfoy's usual group. He was quick with his wand but more interested in theory than practical work.

"Potter family magic," Harry supplied.

"It's certainly reckless enough for the Potter name," the second girl spoke again. Harry turned his head and looked over at them for the first time. Two of them were standing at the edge of the circle of runes. The other two stood halfway between the castle door and the circle. Without his glasses he could only identify Zabini.

"We can talk theory later if you want, but if you don't mind, I'd like to get dressed." Harry smiled as the four green and black blurs quickly left through the archway. He stood, holding the cloak Parkinson had dropped over him tightly. He dressed in record speed, embarrassment motivating him through the soreness in his limbs. A wave of his wand vanished the chalk remains of the rune circle. Grabbing his violin case Harry walked through the archway, interrupting an intense but hushed argument. Zabini was cornered between Parkinson and the other girl, her name was Greenfield or Greengrass or something like that, with Malfoy looking irritated off to the side.

"So, Potter," Zabini pushed the girls aside to get to Harry, "about that ritual…"

"We are going to miss breakfast at the temple," Malfoy groaned. "Who cares what kind of suicidal ritual Potter pulled out of his family library?"

"Do you mean the temple in Hogsmede?" Harry asked. He'd all but forgotten about the pureblood religion Samuel had mentioned. The ritual's magic buzzed at him, churning up the relevant information.

"We're going to the Midwinter service," Parkinson said. "It's not something a _Catholic_ would be interested in."

"I'm not Catholic," Harry said, a flash of anger blazing through him. Dumbledore had put a compulsion on him to avoid talking about religion and stay away from the temples. Molly Weasley had added her own two cents, suggesting that he should love Christmas.

"Blood traitors like the Weasleys are all Catholic," Parkinson spat.

"I'm not a Weasley. I've actually been meaning to visit the temple, but I had a couple compulsions that made it impossible."

"Oh, sure, we'll believe that," Malfoy scoffed.

"Everyone is welcome at Yule," the girl Harry didn't know well said.

"I… Well I don't know if I should come by on a major holiday as my first visit. I was hoping to ask a few questions and…"

"I think it's the perfect time," Zabini interrupted. "Stick with us. I usually sit in the back, and we can point you to the Priestess after the service is over."

"Are you insane?" Parkinson shouted. "This is Harry Potter, paragon of the light. The only reason he'd want to know about the Temple is to take it apart!"

"What?" Harry asked, feeling a bit out of his depth. "Why would I want to take it apart?"

"The light has been trying to abolish the Old Religion for ages," the girl Harry didn't know well explained. "Normally I'd agree with Pansy, but you just performed a ritual cleansing powered by the rebirth of the Sun. Why _do_ you want to come to the temple?"

"Well," Harry shuffled his feet, thinking about how to say what he wanted without insulting the purebloods, "the short answer is because I don't know anything about it." The four Slytherins looked at Harry expectantly for a moment, clearly not satisfied. "No one ever asked me my opinion before I got dragged into this war. I fight Death Eaters because if I don't, they'll kill me. I didn't know cleansing rituals were a political issue until after I started talking about them. This is the same situation. I don't really have a religion. My first Christmas was here at Hogwarts."

"Are we really going to listen to this crap?" Malfoy complained.

"No, we're going to temple before we miss breakfast. Potter, there is a door fee of three sickles for non-members of the temple," Zabini declared. He gestured to the girl Harry didn't know well. "This is Astoria Greengrass, Daphne's younger sister. Daphne is singing in the service, so she's already there. I don't believe you've met her formally before."

"I haven't had the pleasure. Is it alright that I have my violin?" Harry asked as they started to walk. "I can run it up to my dorm if not."

"I don't think anyone will mind. You can put it under your chair," Zabini shrugged.

* * *

Author's Note: I've been reading The Glamour of Grammar by Roy Peter Clark. I highly recommend it to anyone who likes writing. It is an entertaining and enjoyable book. I'm also a political creature, and the upcoming election has fascinated me to the point where fanfiction has faded into the background. Yes, this is a short chapter, but it's been slow going and I'd really like some feedback.


	25. Expectations of a Hero

Expectations of a Hero

Harry walked alongside Zabini, Greengrass, Parkinson, and Malfoy. The four Slytherins were talking in hushed and stifled tones as they headed to the main doors. They didn't need to be so quiet. The ritual's whispers varied in volume depending on the strength of the magic they represented. Some voices he recognized instantly, others he couldn't place. Molly Weasley's stern commands to stay away from those dangerous Slytherins came first, spurred by his direct violation of the suggestive magic.

_You will live up to expectations._

When headmaster's loud proclamation floated through his mind the floodgates opened. Suddenly it sounded like the entire great hall speaking in unison. He was only able to pick out a few in the wild rush:

_Gryffindors are noble._

_There wasn't a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin._

_You look just like James Potter._

_The Boy-Who-Lived is the Champion of the Light._

_You will never be better than my Dudley!_

"Shut up," Harry gasped, clamping his hands over his ears. Considering the voices were inside his head, he knew it wouldn't help. Distantly, he heard Malfoy say something foul. Someone shook his shoulder, but it took a full two minutes before he could come up from under the flood of magic.

"Hey, are you alright?" someone asked, and it was clearly not the first time he'd asked.

"Getting there, I think." Harry looked around. Fred was standing next to him looking worried. The Slytherins were equal parts disturbed and curious. "As an academic exercise, think about what would happen to someone under a compulsion to live up to other's expectations starting at age one. Then, have him rip it off using a ritual that tells him exactly what he's removing all at once."

"But… but then every piece of gossip you ever heard, or overheard, even if you weren't paying attention to it at the time, would have added another layer to the spell," Greengrass sputtered.

"Yeah," Harry sighed and took a few steadying breaths. "So… what was that you were saying about missing breakfast?" he asked Zabini.

"You have got to be kidding me," Malfoy drawled.

"Did I miss something?" Fred asked.

"I've been meaning to check out the temple in Hogsmeade. Zabini said I can come to the Midwinter service today for three sickles."

"I forgot about that," Fred said to himself. "I'll never forget that first time you had dinner with us. I thought Mum was going to choke to death when you told her you didn't know what saying grace meant."

"Well, I don't know anything about religion so I think I'll work on that while doing something completely and totally against as many of the compulsions I've been under as possible at the same time." Harry turned to the others. Malfoy had started walking down the hall on his own, but Zabini and the two girls were still waiting curiously.

"I think I'll go take a nap, myself," Fred replied as they all started walking. "Ron, George, and I went to check on the girls when we were done. They were already wound up in a full-blown shouting match. Ron and George got themselves involved, so I came to see how you were doing."

"I don't know why I'm not screaming in a fit of rage."

"Maybe it's not your style. I know it isn't mine."

"Who knows what my style is anymore."

"Come on, Harry, it couldn't be that… bad…" Fred trailed off at Harry's wry expression. "Or it could be."

"You are on the opposite end of the castle from George," Harry observed.

"Yeah, there is that. Have a nice time at the temple," Fred conceded with a salute. Harry walked in silence with Malfoy out in front, Zabini casting curious glances from his left side, and the two girls just behind him.

"You know, it's a little insulting if you are only coming to thumb your nose at whoever put a compulsion on you to stay away," Greengrass accused.

"It isn't just that. I have been planning to go to the temple for months now. I just couldn't actually get myself to do it. Now I know why I couldn't think about it for more than five minutes before being distracted by the nearest shiny object."

"You really aren't a Christian?" Parkinson asked.

"I think my Aunt and Uncle technically belong to the Church of England, but I never went with them. They agree with the perspective that a wizard going to a Christian church is hypocritical because of the witch burnings back in the day."

"I suppose even a muggle can have a sensible idea," she snapped. Harry just smiled and held the door for the girls. A fresh layer of snow covered the castle grounds. There was no wind and the sky was a cloudless blue.

In the distance, they heard a clock strike nine. Harry blinked, amazed it was only twenty minutes past dawn. It felt like a lot more than one hour since he'd started the ritual. As everyone's mind operates differently and changes constantly, the ritual couldn't possibly insert the knowledge directly into the mind in a moment of pure understanding the way it's inventors originally intended. It could only drop the lump of tangled facts off in a generic lump of barely organized thought. For Harry, the magic of the ritual had dumped all the information into his brain just outside his flimsy occlumency shields in such a concentrated lump that it would take some time to assimilate the information. Hopefully, moments like the revelation about living up to expectations wouldn't ruin his day. Really, he ought to take the advice of Fred – both Fred Weasley and Frederick Barnius Potter, who had left notes about his own go at the ritual – and take a nap so his unconscious can process the sticky ball of unsorted facts into some semblance of understandable thought. He put his feet on autopilot and worked on bringing the lump of thought to the inside of his mental shields.

The walk was long, but not too cold for the five students armed with warming charms. The temple grounds were on the far side of town from Hogwarts. There was a high wall on either side of the four story building enclosing a large area behind the temple plastered in a warm golden cream. Wreaths decorated the top of the wall and every window. It didn't look too much different from a Christmas celebration, from the outside. Quite a few owls were perched on and around the building, and a very large tree behind the wall dwarfed the building. The temple itself was built to look like a cozy cottage, with a straight walls and simple plaster façade in the same golden color under a thatched roof. Slate pavers lead out from the main door to the cobblestone street. Harry had only walked past it once or twice, despite it being on a main road, but it had always struck him as a supremely inviting place. The scent of delicious breakfast foods wafting out the open front door made it especially alluring.

Hedwig swooped over to Harry's shoulder when they approached. He hadn't spent nearly as much time with her as he used to, and she clearly missed him. From time to time she would show up in his dorm and he'd spoil her mercilessly with one hand while playing chess or cards with the other. She was still his most faithful companion, after all, and deserved to be fussed over. With his body still mostly in automatic, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a treat for Hedwig.

"Where did you get bacon?" Zabini asked, snapping Harry fully out of his mental landscape.

"Pardon?"

"You just pulled out a strip of bacon for your owl."

"Oh… I always have something for Hedwig in my pocket." Harry pulled out a recycled owl treat bag he'd been using for the last few months to keep bacon in. "She loves rare steak and bacon the best and I think real meat's better for her than the store bought treats."

"Wow, that's… I knew some people went barmy for their pets…"Zabini just shook his head. They were nearly at the front door. "Anyway, there should be someone watching the door just inside. He'll be writing down who shows up. Give him three sickles and we'll get over to the tables."

"I'm right here. Running a little late, aren't you?" a tall man wearing white with red and green trim interrupted, stepping out onto the doormat.

"Zabini accidentally switched off Draco's alarm and it took us ages to scrape them out of bed!" Parkinson grouched.

"You haven't missed too much, so go on inside. Zabini, who is your guest?" The wizard checked off the names of the Slytherins on a list. The others left Harry and Zabini standing just outside the door.

"Harry Potter," Zabini announced, and the taller man had a good laugh.

"Ah, I really am Harry Potter," Harry explained when the laughter was getting ridiculous, offering the door fee to him.

"Sweet Circle…You're Pagan?"

"I'm not anything, but I am open minded."

"Zabini, go get Lady Mansfield. I'll get our guest set up with breakfast."

From there things started moving quickly. Breakfast was nearly over, but from the size of the buffet table it was quite the spread. The doorman, whose name was Frank, loaded Harry up with a sizable plate and parked him at a round table in the corner furthest from the exit. There were many families milling around the room, some groups with young children and others centered on elderly parents. The room was decorated in evergreens, poinsettias, rosemary, holly, mistletoe, and ivy. Red, green, and white candles filled the room with golden light. On the whole, he didn't see where this was any different from a Christmas celebration. There was even a tree covered in candles and tiny silver bells, though it didn't have any gifts under it. He could spot several Hogwarts students scattered through the crowd. Zabini was currently in a heated discussion with a woman Harry guessed was his mother. Those who were finished eating were grouping up. Suddenly a woman wearing a bright silver robe with long blond hair braided with red and green ribbons sat down across from him and observed him like he was some newly discovered insect.

"Hello," Harry said after hastily swallowing some very delicious potatoes.

"Hello Mr. Potter. I am Lady Mansfield, one of the priestesses here at the Temple of Hidden Lines. What questions do you have?"

"Well… This is the first time I've… just… What is it all about?" Harry asked at last.

"What is Yule about?"

"What is any of it? I know absolutely nothing about religion." Harry watched the priestess shift in her chair for a moment, looking for a starting point.

"Well, there are five points to our belief. The first is the Rede: Do as you will, if it harm naught; if it harm some, do as you ought…" she began. In short order Harry desperately wished he had a notebook, his breakfast mostly forgotten. Lady Mansfield talked for over an hour before several people in silver robes started to round everyone up. The groups of family and friends filtered out the back door.

"Eleven o'clock already?" Lady Mansfield remarked. "Well, we have a ritual starting soon that climaxes at high noon. It is the second of three today: one at dawn and the last at sunset. Today is all about the rebirth of the sun, after all. Just follow along and you'll be fine."

The ritual itself was interesting. An area had been cleared of snow and ringed in gold and silver ribbons. There was a lot of singing and dancing in circles. Harry mimicked the dance moves as best he could, but wouldn't risk trying to sing along. It left Harry a little tired, but with a wide grin. When it was over Harry was passed around being introduced to half the congregation. He answered questions honestly, but didn't ask many of his own for fear of being insulting. Near as Harry could tell, the morning was for family and the afternoon was for community. After a half hour of that, all the youngest children were gathered in one area of the yard at tiny desks. Harry was invited to listen to one of the Priests tell the children stories since he wouldn't have heard them growing up the way others had. He sat at one of the tiny desks.

"You don't have to use the desk, Mr. Potter," the Priest, Lord Harvey, laughed at how neatly Harry folded into a desk next to a four year old girl.

"Why not; I fit in it, don't I? Look kids, this is why you need to drink your milk. You don't want to be as short as I am!" Harry laughed right back, fully at ease. It was amazing how welcoming everyone had been. Sure, there were skeptics like the Malfoys and Parkinsons, but most people were happy to talk to him about magic, ethics, and tradition. The children's stories were simple and fun. There were games after story time, and the youngest children insisted that Harry take part. One game was similar to football or hacky sack, but played with an enchanted soap bubble that popped if you used your hands on it. It was a baby game, and he was sure his classmates were going to tease him about it later, but the novelty made it fun.

Lady Mansfield came around to free him from the band of tiny kidnappers. She handed him a pair of slim books: one a primer written for small children, the other a more grown-up book about the history of the eight days of power. It was just gone half three at sunset this far north on the shortest day of the year. The end of the final ritual kicked off a party. There had apparently been some wild revelry last night at various homes, and this was supposedly a much quieter gathering. Some musicians set up on one side of the room. Harry's violin case had been moved from his chair, where the Priests had assured him it would be safe, to the side of the stage with the other instruments. Harry tried to cut through the crowd when he noticed one of the musicians holding it up in confusion.

"Oi, be careful with that violin, it's irreplaceable," Harry shouted when his path was suddenly blocked by a pair of very large women and their kids.

"Is this yours?" an older man asked. Harry jumped over a dollhouse and skidded to a halt in front of the stage, immediately taking the case from the young man who was holding it up to the older gentleman with an eye patch.

"No, I'm just shouting for my health. Of course it's mine," Harry snapped, gently looking over the case for evidence of damage. The bigger concern was the snake's venom, but he wasn't about to admit his violin had psychotropic poison and a mind of its own. Harry was actually surprised the violin hadn't enchanted him. He was sure it had compelled him somehow, but according to the ritual it was clean. That made it all the more precious: he honestly loved its music.

"You here to play?" the man asked, adjusting his green robes. Harry hadn't been introduced to him yet.

"No, I'm just curious. I had the violin with me when I was invited this morning."

"You play well?" The older man was probably forty, and gruff. The other musicians clearly deferred to him and were flitting around in the background getting everything set up.

"I'm alright, I guess," Harry shrugged.

"Get setup over there," he ordered, pointing at a patch of stage near the back next to a woman with a Cello.

"I don't know the songs."

"You've heard them every year since you could stand. If you know anything about that instrument, you can play."

"This is my first time in a Temple."

"Say again?"

"This is my first time in a Temple. I was invited this morning," Harry repeated slowly.

"Get off his back, Gerry," one of the other musicians, a very old man named Therin who introduced Harry to his great-grandkids earlier, chimed in. "Harry here is new to the fold. I heard a rumor you played; never put much trust in things I don't see."

"Muggleborn convert, then, yeah?" Gerry grunted.

"No, just muggle-raised," Harry said with a smirk. "My name's Harry Potter."

"Heh, unfortunate; same name as the Boy-Who-Lived." Therin and Harry laughed.

"Same body, also," Harry quipped. Gerry didn't seem to understand, but Therin barked out another laugh.

"Here son, come over by me," Therin said, taking Harry by the elbow. "The fiddle's my instrument. You can watch and learn from me, and if you want to get out on the dance floor you'll be in a prime location."

They settled on the far corner of the stage right at the front. Therin had Harry set up his violin and transfigured a stand for him. A quiet but happy hiss signaled the violin's wholehearted approval of the arrangement. The music was old, ancient even. Celtic songs and spinning dances had the floor packed almost from the first note. Harry held his violin loosely in his left hand, but left the bow hanging from the stand. The magic of the violin tingled against his fingers as it helped him commit the songs to memory. The singers passionately filled the room with songs of love, life, and hope – some followed the story of the Wheel of the Year Harry heard earlier, but most of them didn't seem religious.

"You just going to stand there like a post?" Therin asked after a few songs.

"I'm learning," Harry answered.

"You won't learn much standing still as a statue staring holes in my hands. Take up your bow if you dare, the next song is much like the one before last. Simple chords and slow, good for new blood to test. If you don't feel up to that, get out there and dance. I could get my youngest granddaughter over here, she's home schooled and I worry she doesn't meet many…"

"How's it go?" Harry asked, fumbling to get the bow in his hand as quickly as possible. Therin grinned like the twins in full pranking splendor and signaled Gerry with a few hand motions. As the spinning song about dancing in a snow-covered forest extended into an extra repeat of the chorus, Harry copied Therin's finger positions as he silently showed Harry the progression. The old man was right, it was simple. Three measures repeating, follow Therin's lead as the tempo rises with each section, and a short a cappella section in the middle.

The little snake cheered Harry on, even though it was doing most of the work, and Harry gave himself over to playing a background part in a large group – something he hadn't ever done. With some prodding from both violin and Therin Harry joined in three more songs, playing 'the rhythm' according to Therin's direction, before the set ended and the musicians took a break. It was basically repeating the same few bars over and over in time with the drums to give the melody something to back it up, and if Harry wasn't trying to learn on the fly it would be horribly boring.

"Alright, maybe you can learn by staring holes in my hands," Therin laughed. "You pick it up quick, make no mistake."

"I made plenty of mistakes!" Harry laughed back, giddy from the stress of keeping up. "I'm glad so many of the songs are similar or I'd be so lost a point me spell couldn't help me find the next note."

"Well, since we're on break why don't you play me something you do know."

"Er… I know a lot of pop music and some classical pieces…"

"You know Christmas songs?"

"Wouldn't that be a little… ah…," Harry wasn't sure what to say to that.

"Deck the Halls is all about our traditions, they bled over into the Church and someone wrote the song for Christmas. Someone changed the words of a few verses to suit the Temple, and we'll play it later on tonight."

"Oh… I know Deck the Halls," Harry admitted feeling shell-shocked.

"Then play," Therin ordered. Harry nervously lifted the violin, aware that Therin wasn't the only one paying acute attention to the newcomer getting ready to play at the corner of the stage while most of the musicians grabbed a drink or a plate. The violin sang out the simple, well-known melody and stopped after a single verse.

"Not half bad; a bit wrote, but that's to be expected in a young man," Therin praised. An approving murmur backed him up from the other watchers.

"Are there other songs that carry over?" Harry asked. Therin's answer was drowned out by those gathered around them. The assembled witches and wizards started talking over one another, suggesting songs or making snide comments about his skill, while Harry stood frozen in front of them. Most of them had had a bit to drink by now, and without the Priest or Priestess as a guide and buffer he felt vulnerable in a room full of purebloods. Suddenly made aware of how far into hostile territory he'd strayed, Harry took an instinctive step back and bumped into Therin.

"Don't crowd the boy," Therin chastised. "Go grab something to eat, son, and then skitter back over here."

Harry quickly hung his violin on the stand and all but ran to the buffet table. Lady Mansfield caught his elbow and made sure he had five times as much food on his plate than he wanted to have. To say the woman was stunned to see a young man pile a plate high with potato salad and green beans when there was perfectly good roast beef, ham, and turkey to be had would be an understatement. She made a few vague comments about the morality of meat and how the animals were all well cared for during their pre-entrée lives, but Harry just kept focused on how delicious everything else looked. A few of the witches responsible for cooking the side dishes tittered at the compliments, and he returned to Therin's side with a heavy plate and a trail of older women.

Over the hour break Harry ate (the casserole is fantastic,) avoided agreeing to dance with anyone's granddaughter (curfew is at nine after all,) accepted a short stack of replicated sheet music (I promise to copy it out tomorrow before the charm fades,) and listened to gossip about people he didn't know (glad to hear your daughter didn't actually marry that thief.)


End file.
